


Roy and Riza Observation Journal

by meridianheroine



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Analysis, Character Parallelisms, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, In Character, Multi, Multiple genre, Other, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Omniscient, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Royai - Freeform, Slow Burn, Young!Royai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:13:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26192467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianheroine/pseuds/meridianheroine
Summary: Rumor has it, Roy and Riza are having an illicit affair. No, Riza’s just one name in his list of exes, sprung another one. Some hearsay argues that nothing is going on between them. The debate remained endless on the unspoken question everyone has on this impeccable duo: what’s up with these two?
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 74
Kudos: 207





	1. Log 01: Team Mustang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on the Bonus Chapter in the manga: Roy Mustang's Observation Diary (Volume 6), and also Episode 37 of FMA 2003 (It's my favorite!). 💗 Also, this particular chapter is loosely based from that one, naughty Roy + Riza doujinshi: Taisatyui by TOKOYA. 
> 
> Please do note that the rating is Mature, especially for scenes in the upcoming chapters. 
> 
> A fair warning: this fic transitions from light events to more serious ones along the line! 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S.: This fic is a prequel for my other upcoming story: [ Meridian ](https://meridianheroine.tumblr.com/post/635954182347702272/update-november-28-est-i-shared-a-lil-bit-more). It's set 12 years after The Promised Day. It has a bigger plot, so it still takes a lot of time for me to wrap it up before posting. So, while you guys are waiting, this Observation Journal ought to keep the hype!

**Weeks after the Promised Day (Late Spring, 1915)**  
  
It had been raining all day in Central. Droplets battered its roofs like a hail of bullets. The streets were silent and empty, save for the faint horns of vehicles and their splashes on puddles. Despite the city’s cold exterior, its homes, schools, and offices remain warm and lively indoors. After all, everyone in the country has been through so much since The Promised Day. As days, weeks, and months have passed, Amestris has gotten into a speedy recovery. They celebrated life even more festive and fervently. 

A little bit too vibrant for some.

2nd Lieutenant Heymans Breda yawned, stretching his arms up high. They’ve reassigned back to Central for months. He must admit that he truly missed the place; the familiar faces, city life, booze, and women. He eyed the mountains of finished paperwork and frowned. Just not the paperwork. His superiors told them they’d only be dropping some of the accomplished files to the acting-Führer’s office, but it has already been half an hour.

The sky dawned indigo. Breda mindlessly scratched his belly, wondering how long he can keep an empty stomach before they get dismissed. “What’s taking them so long?”

2nd Lieutenant Jean Havoc let out an exasperated grunt. “If I’d known, I would’ve told my date!” He anxiously walked back and forth, making the most out of his fully-recovered legs. “Now, she’s definitely dumping me _.”_

“With all due respect, Havoc, how can you be so sure she won’t dump you even if you did go to the date?” 2nd Lieutenant Vato Falman made his remark. 

“At least there’s a chance!” Havoc burrowed his face on his hands, then looked up at Falman. “Easy for you to say, huh? Do _you_ have any chances with women?

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Falman huffed triumphantly. “I’m engaged.”

All four of them dropped their jaws wide open. Tech & Communication Expert Kain Fuery readjusted his glasses as if it would help him believe what he had just heard. “Y-y-you? How?”

Falman sheepishly scratched the back of his head. “I met her at Briggs.”

“Falman, you lucky bastard!” Breda gave him a rough smack on his back. “How’s she?”

“For starters, she’s an incredible woman.” Falman shrugged away Breda’s hand, unused to the extra attention his workmates had on him. Their intrigued gazes burned the skin on his face red. Falman darted his eyes upward as if the ceiling bears the words to supply their curiosity. “Uh, if it were possible, I’m certain sparks fly whenever we touch.”

“Lucky you,” Fuery sighed ruefully. “The only sparks I’ve seen in the South were from bombs.”

“That’s it, I've had it.” Havoc smacked his hands on the desk. “Have some sensitivity! Here you are blabbering about bombs while my love life’s going to blow up any minute now!”

Breda rolled his eyes. “Come on, do you think our superiors would even care about your love life?”

“I don’t care if they care,” Havoc said bluntly. “I’m losing a once in a lifetime opportunity here—”

“All you’re gonna lose is your job if you keep this up,” Fuery noted frankly.

“I agree.” Falman crossed his arms on his chest. “Now, we should just _focus_ on our tasks.”

“Which is?” asked Havoc.

“Er, to wait for them.”

“Hey, I wanna have a _life_!” Havoc frantically flailed his hands in the air. “It’s all about having that work-life balance. I don’t wanna be like them!”

“Well, the Colonel goes on dates,” Fuery pointed out. 

“Actually, they all seem to be _flings,_ ” added Breda. “He rarely dates the same person twice.”

“Finally, somebody’s taking my side!” Havoc exclaimed.

“Just stating the facts, Havoc.”

“Quite frankly,” Falman pondered. “I don’t think the Lieutenant and the Colonel have _any_ romantic relationships outside the military.”

Silence dropped heavily on the four officers.

“D-d-don’t you think—”

“Falman, you keen dog!”

Havoc slapped his lap in amusement. “Ha! By the looks of it, they both seem to be their _own_ love lives.”

Fuery writhed. “I don’t think we should dive further into this topic.” 

Falman begged to differ. “I think it’s interesting—”

“Interesting? Are you out of your minds?” Fuery shook the taller man like a berry tree. “They’ll kill us!”

Breda pulled the little pawn away from the bishop. “Come on, Kain, I’m sure you’ll experience nothing worse than the bullets and bombs of the South.”

“What makes _that_ any different with the Lieutenant and the Colonel?” spat Fuery.

“Come to think of it,” Falman mused, unfazed by Fuery’s worries. “They’re always left alone in this room.”

Havoc’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Pray tell.”

Falman dared them to come closer, and they all huddled on the desk. He started whispering aloud, “We all know that the Lieutenant has a habit of leaning in _too_ close to the Colonel.”

Breda gasped. “How have I not noticed this before?” 

Falman replied, “Maybe because—”

“You don’t need to answer that! Continue, if you may please.”

“Alright,” Falman cleared his throat. “Whenever they’re alone, the Colonel would try to steal a kiss on her cheek.”

“Sounds very much like him,” Fuery nodded, dragging his chair closer to the discussion.

Falman continued. 

> Dodging Mustang’s lousy attempt, the swift Lieutenant pulled further away from the perpetrator. “Colonel, that would be inappropriate.”
> 
> “Come on, Lieutenant! Besides,” the Colonel mused, his lips spread into a lopsided smirk. “Nobody’s around here, but us.”
> 
> “With all due respect, Sir, that’s not what I meant,” retorted the stoic Lieutenant. Her eyes never left the papers she was filing, and Mustang never left Hawkeye out of his sight either.
> 
> “Oh?” Roy rested his chin on his clasped hands. His smirk grew wider at her curious statement. “Would you be so kind as to elaborate?”
> 
> Hawkeye sighed and stopped filing papers. “You’re doing it wrong.”
> 
> “P-Pardon?” 
> 
> “It means what it means, Sir.”
> 
> “And _you_ have an idea of the ‘correct’ way, I presume?”
> 
> “As a matter of fact, I do.”
> 
> Riza slammed her palms on Mustang’s desk. She leaned closer, rendering the startled Colonel no chance to escape the tension. Her eyebrow arched. “Well?”
> 
> “Well,” croaked Mustang. Riza raked her fingers through his hair, and Roy fumbled his shirt collar. She was so close he could catch her scent— vanilla with a trace of gunpowder.
> 
> “You know I don’t tolerate any form of advancement without my consent, Colonel," Riza purred lowly.
> 
> “My apologies, Lieutenant. I thought you’d like surprises.”
> 
> Riza sighed, but her lips gave away her amusement. “Given we’re already in this situation,” her gaze locked on his eyes, “any orders, Sir?”
> 
> Roy let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “May I?”
> 
> “I thought you’d never ask.” 
> 
> Riza pulled him by the collar, her lips crashing unto his. Roy drew the nape of her neck closer, his hand gripping her hair firmly as their tongues slurped in contact. 

Havoc clenched his fists in excitement. “And then?” 

Falman added, “And then Havoc knocks.”

“Damn it, Havoc!” Breda snapped. 

Fuery groaned, then he jolted as a thought came to mind. He pulled his drawer open and dragged out a notebook. Their eyes widened at recognition.

“Isn’t that—”

“Yup. Roy Mustang's Observation Journal.”

Falman and Breda pulled out their notebooks as well, and the crisp sounds of flipping pages filled the room. They scribbled it with marks and annotations on their conspiracies. Havoc cursed himself for shredding his journal into pieces back then.

“I knew it,” Fuery leaned back, examining the logbook. Every page had Riza’s name, which they just encircled in red ink. “They _always_ show up at the same place at the same time.”

“Except for mornings,” Breda observed. “The Lieutenant has never been as tardy as the Colonel.”

“What if the Lieutenant _makes_ the Colonel sleep in late?” suggested Havoc. 

"Oho," Breda uttered. “I dare you to say more, Havoc.”

Havoc cleared his throat, and the three officers readied their pens to jot down their insights. 

> When Havoc barged in, Roy and Riza were like deer in the headlights. But their desire only intensified.
> 
> They couldn’t take it any longer. And so they asked, “Havoc, care to join us?”

The office echoed with cacophonic groaning. 

Falman buried his hands on his hair. “Havoc, why on Earth would you include yourself in the picture?”

“I’d like to wash my _mind_ with bleach now,” complained Fuery. 

“Yeah, you could’ve added us too!” huffed Breda, to which the Falman and Fuery glared at him in disdain. 

“How would I know?" defended Havoc. "They probably have done it with multiple superiors so the Colonel would grab up some ranks—”

The door swished open. The four men stiffened and went back to their respective cubicles like tin soldiers. 

“Poor Miss Riza, having to deal with five perverted men on a daily basis.”

“Major Armstrong!” they all chimed in unison as Major Alex Louis Armstrong strode across the room. 

"Thank god it's just you." Havoc rolled his shoulders. "We could've had a heart attack!" 

“Pardon the intrusion,” Armstrong announced, “I haven’t seen the Colonel or the Lieutenant anywhere, so I had to drop these papers.” He dumped several binders on the Colonel’s desk, which made a loud thump.

“Say, Armstrong," Breda began, "where do you think they could’ve gone?”

“I’m not quite sure myself.” Armstrong crossed his arms over his chest. “But if I were to ride your imagination, they would be _canoodling_ all over each other.”

Havoc scratched his head. “In English, please?”

“To kiss and cuddle amorously,” provided Falman. 

“Well, there goes our walking dictionary,” commented Fuery.

Breda had an sly grin plastered on his face. “Would you mind telling us more, Major?” 

“No, not at all!" beamed Armstrong. "I still have time left to spare before my dear sister arrives home.”

"You mean, the Major-General?" Falman asked weakly. He can’t count the times that Olivier Mira Armstrong commanded him to pluck out icicles in Briggs.

“Oh, no, I was referring to our youngest sister," denoted Armstrong. "They’re coming from a long vacation in Xing.”

The boys turned their heads toward Havoc, whose eyes twitched. Catherine Elle Armstrong once dumped him right in front of the Armstrong family. His humiliation will be passed down to them for generations!

"As I was saying..." Armstrong cleared his throat. “On rainy days like this, the Lieutenant helps the Colonel become useful again— by igniting the desires of their hearts!” Sparkles surround him comically out of nowhere.

The four men clapped and howled like buffoons.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Havoc remarked, forgetting his earlier demise.

Fuery continued, “While we’re all out doing his work, the Colonel laments over his uselessness all alone—”

“Until the Lieutenant comes in, sigh, and say _‘When will you ever stop being useless?’_ ” Breda made his best impression on Hawkeye.

> “Well, so help me!” retorted the Colonel. 
> 
> “What kind of help do you propose, Sir?” Hawkeye gave him an alluring gaze, her suggestive hips leaning towards Mustang’s desk, her fingers sliding along its edges. 
> 
> Sensing the mood shift, the Colonel flashed his iconic smirk. “I wouldn’t think you’d approve of it.”
> 
> “I suppose I’d take that as a challenge.” Hawkeye was now beside him.
> 
> The Colonel dangerously leaned forward, his hands grabbing her waist. “Are you sure you’d want that, Lieutenant?”
> 
> “I’d ask you the same, Colonel.” Riza swayed her hips and sat on his lap.
> 
> “Now, then,” Roy crooned, pulling her closer. Then he blew hot breaths against her ear, “How about we set this room on fire?”
> 
> “I commend your courage,” Riza gushed, “But I don’t think you can handle me.” Riza brushed her palm against his crotch—
> 
> _Bam!_ The Colonel pinned her on his desk. “Be careful what you say, Lieutenant,” he pushed himself against hers, “you wouldn’t want to eat your words.”
> 
> “Colonel,” Hawkeye shoves Mustang to his side— she’s now on top of him. “If there’s anything I would devour today, it wouldn’t be my words.” 

“How _dare_ you make me the ‘bottom’?” 

Their heads all spun to the doorway, dreadfully. There stood Roy Mustang, hips cocked and chest puffed. “Let me correct that.”

 _Bang!_ A bullet ricocheted. Ears nearly grazed, all six heads slowly turned to face its source by the doorway.

Riza pulled her gun up parallel to her ear, with smoke still looming out of its hole. “Colonel, mind informing them of _the_ _news_ first _?_ ”

“Ah, yes.” Roy dusted his shoulder blades, regaining his composure. “Gentlemen, I have an announcement.”

Ears perked, the five officers erected themselves in full attention, like Dobermans at the sight of a kitten. Hawkeye handed them envelopes as if it were brochures.

“We’re all getting promoted.”

* * *

Hawkeye was the last to leave the office. She sighed at the mess the men made— not a pleasant greeting. She had been busy filing papers for their promotions and the Ishval restoration, and this was not an admirable demeanor to express gratitude.

Three knocks broke the silence, and the door swung open. “Hawkeye, dear, I’ll take it from here.”

Acting-Führer Grumman entered the room, and Riza gave him her salute. 

“Ah-ah-ah, need to be so formal.” Grumman gestured to put her hand down. 

“I appreciate the offer," Riza acknowledged, "but it wouldn’t be right for me to leave you here, Sir.” 

“Oh ho ho, won’t you let your grandfather spoil you for once?” Grumman huffed haughtily. 

“But—”

“No ‘buts’!” His tone turned serious. “You look tired, Hawkeye. Get some rest.”

Knowing she couldn’t argue any further, Riza succumbed to his request. “Yes, Sir.”

“Have someone walk you home,” Grumman teased as Riza fetched her purse and binders.

“Thank you, Sir, but I’d rather stick with my canine chaperone.” Riza waved him goodbye before disappearing into the hallway. She needed to fetch Black Hayate from his daily warehouse patrol. 

Grumman sighed. Any man would be lucky to have her. Besides, he always wondered what it would be like to have great-grandchildren.

His eyes scanned the messy room. Then he caught sight of three notebooks hiding in between Fuery’s radios. He examined it closely, and found that the cover had a name crossed out and a correction written above it. Grumman arched his brows and snickered in amusement.

“Roy and Riza’s Observation Journal, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'd you like that? Feedbacks and shares will be very much appreciated! 💗 I am open for constructive criticism, too! I really had fun writing this, I hope you enjoyed reading it, too! 🥺


	2. Log 02: Rebecca and Sheska

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while! Thank you so much for tuning in, and I sincerely apologize for the long update, I've been busy with uni works lately (I don't even feel we have weekends lololol). But, I'm pleased to announce I'll post two chapters! This was supposed to be under one chapter, but I happened to write it longer than expected (a habit of mine). I hope you all don't mind!
> 
> So, this is where the story becomes more authentic! I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this!

**Log 02 - Rebecca and Sheska  
  
**

**Weeks After the Promotion (Midsummer, 1915)**

“It’s here!”

The now Warrant Officer Kain Fuery rushed into the room, bringing several photographs with him like a hand of poker cards. The rest of Mustang’s men gathered on the table; their rowdy chatter filled the room. One might think they’re at a casino placing bets.

“See that! I lost weight!” said newly promoted First Lieutenant Heymans Breda.

Second Lieutenant Vato Falman placed a hand on his chin. “My shoulders appear to look broader with the new insignia.” 

“Bet more women would dig a First Lieutenant now, huh?” Havoc said.

“Same goes for me then,” retorted Breda.

The gang bawled into laughter, flipping more photos. It has been weeks since their promotion, and they spent the rest of their days juggling through new assignments, rounds, and paperwork. Their request for the Ishvalan restoration had gone through quite a tedious process, thanks to Lieutenant-General Hakuro. They found him purposely delaying the process, abusing his power as the new head of Eastern Headquarters.

Fortunately, the newly-elected Führer Grumman approved it without a doubt. His fast working ethic and efficient strategies made the Amestrians gradually welcome him as their new leader. Still, some find him quite eccentric for the job, and they’re not particularly wrong with that.

“Is that a woodpecker cufflink on the Führer’s sleeves?” Havoc squinted. 

“Yeah, he always has knick-knacks of all sorts of birds in his office,” Fuery commented nonchalantly. He flipped to the next photograph, and all of their eyes widened. 

“We took a picture of _them_?” Breda leaned closer.

“I never knew!” exclaimed Fuery.

“Mustang with the Hawk’s Eye in one photo?” Falman grinned to himself. “Golden.”

Havoc erupted into laughter, “Dunno about you, but whew!” he wiped a tear from his eye, “A proof of Mustang with a mustache makes it more _priceless!”_

“To think he’s always clean-shaven!” said Fuery.

Havoc added, “He must have woken up late and forgotten to shave.”

The four men laughed in chorus. 

When their chuckles subsided, Breda inspected the photo closely. “I would have liked to see the Lieutenant’s— I mean, Captain Hawkeye’s hair grow longer.”

“Agreed,” Falman nodded. 

“I think ours are longer than hers now,” Fuery patted his mane.

“I’d say it doesn’t matter,” Havoc argues. “Women have that choice as much as we do.”

“Since when have you become this serious?” sneered Breda.

“I’m just stating the facts!”

Falman placed a hand on his chin. “When you think about it, they both made sudden changes in their appearance that day.” 

An idea crossed Fuery’s mind. He peeked between his radios— but dread shadowed over his face. He then rummaged his drawers, scattering papers across the room. ”It's gone!”

“What’s gone?l

“The Journals!”

“What?” the rest of the men cried in unison. 

Fuery bit his nails, “All three of them— gone!” 

The door swung open, and their hearts dropped. Roy Mustang skidded gallantly across the room, humming a jazz tune.

The gang exchanged glances, then huddled over the table.

“If he took the journals,” Breda whispered aloud. “He would have gone berserk right now.”

“This leaves us with one other option…” said Fuery.

They all gulped. 

Havoc mustered the courage to ask. “Uh, Colonel?”

“It’s ‘Brigadier General’!” Roy snapped, his voice a high-pitched indignant yell. 

“Have you seen the Captain?”

The creases on his face smoothened, and he sighed. “She’s out to meet someone.” 

“A lunch date?” exclaimed Havoc. The rest of them had their eyes wide open.

“Who knows?” Roy sat down and drew out a sheet of paperwork. “She’s with Rebecca Catalina.”

The men oohed. It has been long since Hawkeye went out for leisure of any sort, and the last time they'd heard of Rebecca was when she hit on the soldiers she shot after the Promised day. She's got a good eye for men indeed.

“So Rebecca’s here?” asked Breda.

“Apparently.” Roy began folding the document into a paper crane, his thoughts elsewhere. “Their rendezvous might be a weekly thing now.” 

“Wait, _weekly_?” 

Roy flicked the paper crane right off his desk. “Rebecca works here in Central from now on.”  
  


* * *

  
“Eh? I wouldn’t want to go on late-night errands to the old man’s place!” The now First Lieutenant Rebecca Catalina slammed her hands on the table. Café goers gave her irritated and peculiar looks, but she didn’t mind. Black Hayate shied away below their table, his paws covering his face.

Riza wished she could apologize on behalf of her friend. “If you’d like, I could relay the errands to my grandfather instead.” Her remark saved them from the bystanders’ prying judgment, who now minded their own business.

“Really? That’s very thoughtful of you, Ri!”

"Anything for a friend. And besides," Riza's lips curled into a small smile. "I certainly wouldn't want you to miss your dates."

“Hey," Rebecca pouted. "I know how to balance my priorities!"

“Just kidding.” Riza took the last bite of her crème brûlée. She then lifted her teacup. “Cheers to our friendship.” 

“Cheers!” 

Their teacups made a _ding_ upon contact. Black Hayate barked in agreement. He certainly likes Rebecca.

“Speaking of which,” Rebecca said, waving her fork. “Remember the last time we went out for lunch? When I told you I’d find a man?” 

Riza nodded. "But you always tell me that."

"Oh but this time, it's a keeper." Rebecca continued, “Well, he sucks. But a good kind of suck. Don’t give me that look, Ri, I didn’t mean it _that_ way _.”_

Riza gave a soft laugh. Rebecca shrugged. “We tried hitting it off before, but work always gets in the way. Recently, we talked about it, and agreed we’d give it a shot when the timing is right.” She sighed, then added, “But I’m still playing hard to get, you know?”

“Of course, you’re _the_ Rebecca,” Riza sipped from her tea. “So, you’d finally be able to retire from this job soon?”

“Oh, I’d definitely retire from this _crappy_ job,” corrected Rebecca. “I promise I’d introduce you to him once everything’s final!”

“No worries, take your time, Becca.” Riza wiped her mouth with a napkin. “It’s no use to rush it.”

“Oh shoot, speaking of rush, I gotta go!” Rebecca hurriedly packed her belongings. 

“Führer duty?” 

“Uh-huh,” Rebecca said flatly before standing up. “Thanks for the catch-up, Ri. See you around!” 

Riza waved goodbye and watched Rebecca take her leave— until she turned back and pointed at Riza. “I’m gonna find _you_ a good man next!”

With that, she hurried off the shop. Riza looked at Black Hayate. “Something’s never changed, huh, BraHa?”  
  


* * *

  
“You’re late,” Grumman walked past Rebecca by the doorway. “But, since you went out with Riza, I’d let this one pass.”

“Thank you, Sir!” Rebecca gave him her perky salute. “Goodluck with the meeting!”

“Ah, and Rebecca?” Grumman peered from the gap of the closing door. “Kindly take those files to Court Martial, and get rid of them.”

Grumman closed the door shut. Rebecca sighed in relief. The first day as Führer’s assistant and she’s late. 

She sashayed across the room and approached the pile of papers. Her eyes darted to a bundle of three peculiar notebooks on top of it, each written with ‘Roy and Riza Observation Journal.’ 

“Eh?!”

Her shriek echoed out of the room and down the hallway. Grumman snickered. He’s moving his chess pieces once again.  
  


* * *

  
“Mr. Mustang and Miss Hawkeye?” The now Corporal Sheska blinked at Rebecca. 

“I'm afraid so.” Rebecca dropped the journals at Sheska’s desk. She wonders why Grumman wanted her to dig on records between her best friend and that stupid cocky womanizer. 

Sheska stared at the journals and wondered the same thing. “D-do you think the Fuhrer wanted to investigate them in a legal case?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, if there’s any fraternization going on between them?”

Rebecca arched an eyebrow. “ _Them_ dating? Don’t make me laugh. I know my standards are high, but Riza’s are much higher.”

“Well, I don’t really know much about them.” Sheska pursed her lips. “But from what I remember, I find one odd detail about them.”

Rebecca’s ears throbbed for more details. “Do tell.” 

Sheska laughed nervously. “Um, I only know military officers by the records I re-encode, so, this might not—”

“Spill it!”

“Ah! They both lived in the same location before their enlistment.”

“What?” Rebecca leaned forward, now hovering over the desk. “But Riza and I joined years later than Mustang!”

“Exactly. So I’ve written it as a secondary address instead.” Sheska said, scratching her cheek. “I always wonder if they’re related by blood, but records show they’re not.”

Rebecca slammed her palms down on Sheska’s desk, who jolted at the impact. 

“How— how come Riza never told me any of this?” Rebecca gasped and dramatically dropped down on her knees. “She never really tells me anything!”

_Bam!_

The door slammed open. “Oy, four-eyed chick!” Havoc barged in the room with stacks of paperwork towering before him. A faint smell of cigarettes filled the air. “Brigadier G’s got something for ya—”

Havoc dropped the papers on her desk, and saw the journals on the desk. His eyeballs bulged upon recognition. “How the _hell_ did that get here?”  
  
He turned to his side and almost stumbled upon seeing Rebecca. “And why the hell are _you_ here?”

He pointed at Rebecca and then at the journals. Then at Rebecca again. Beads of sweat roll down from his forehead. 

Rebecca smirked. “Does this happen to be _yours?_ ” 

“Mind your own business!” Havoc lunged forwards in an attempt to grab the journal. Rebecca dodged swiftly, and Havoc made a _thud_ as he met the floor.

Sheska hesitantly inspected the fallen soldier. “L-Lieutenant Havoc?” 

“Give that back, Catalina!” Havoc sprung up in resurrection. Sheska let out an ‘eep!’.

“Not if you tell me why you’re spying on—” Rebecca’s playful smirk subsided. Nerves instantaneously popped up on her temples. “Why the hell have you been spying on Riza?”

“Wha—”

“Pervert!” Rebecca threw books at him, and Sheska could only watch in horror. 

“I-it’s not what you think! The Colonel, I mean Brigadier General, is under surveillance too!”

Rebecca lowered her paper weapons. She blinked once. Twice. “So you’re—”

“It was an observation!” Havoc exclaimed in his defense, cutting off any false accusation from Rebecca’s mouth. 

“And the rest of the gang’s part of this?” 

“Fuery, Falman, Breda, Armstrong.” Havoc said hastily. “Sheesh, talk about nosy.” 

“Says the one who made the damn thing!” Rebecca placed her hands on her hips. “It’s so irresponsible— you could have ended their career!”

Havoc stuttered before uttering a comprehensible word. “Says the one who brought it for court-martial!”

Rebecca gasped, struggling for words herself. “I’m under orders to get rid of it!”

“I don’t—” Havoc halted midway. “Orders from who?”

“The Fuhrer himself.” 

Havoc let out a high-pitched yelp. Sheska fanned him with her books, trying to pull his soul back. She scrambled away as Havoc jolted back up again. “How did that get to him?”

“Beats me.” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “You dimwits probably left it out in the open.” 

“We didn’t! Well, at least not that I know of.” Havoc cried out. Then a realization dawned him. “You’ve met with the Hawk’s Eye earlier, right? Had she, uh, mentioned this to you?”

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. “Bold of you to assume you’d still be alive when she finds out.”

Havoc nearly faint. Sheska only let out a sigh, fed up with helping him get on his knees. As if on cue, Havoc knelt in front of Rebecca. He clasped his hands as if he were praying. “Help me with this, Catalina!” 

“Really, Jean? _Help_ you?” Rebecca looked down on him like he was a gum stuck on her new combat boots. 

“Just like old times?” Havoc squeaked.

Rebecca scowled. “Aren’t _you_ the one who owes _me_?”

Before Havoc could make any remarks, Rebecca leaned forward. “First,” she pointed her finger, “You stood me up—”

“I was waiting for the Brigadier General—“

“Second,” she glared at him, now with two fingers up, “That was our second chance!”

“B-b-but—”

“Third,” she pulled Havoc by his collar and lifted him up in midair. “You still haven’t paid me back for years! Calling it off in the East, and for what? Transfer to Central, my ass!”

Rebecca was about to shove him down the floor when Havoc squirmed. “It was all Mustang’s fault! He told me to break it off!”

“I knew it.” Rebecca shook the poor Lieutenant. “All men in Central are cowards!” 

_Thud!_

Havoc and Catalina froze like a film scene on pause. Rebecca dropped him and turned to Sheska, who shrugged her shoulders. “I-I-It wasn’t me!”

Havoc dusted his pants, then inspected the room. “Looks like we got company—”

“Shh!” Rebecca strained her ears for any signs of life aside from them. Keen with her hearing, she can hear erratic breathing and whispers— a failed attempt to silently mouth words. 

She nodded at Havoc, who nodded in return. They went on opposite sides of the door and pulled their guns through the doorway.

Two shrieks. The perpetrators slid right into their sight.

Sheska’s jaw dropped. “Maria Ross and Denny Brosh?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Rebecca Catalina. She's such a sassy ass. Just as Riza is keen with her vision, Rebecca is keen with her auditory perception. Well, at least that's just how it goes in my headcanon wahaha.
> 
> In FMAB, she asks Riza to find her a decent man in Central, and Riza shoves Black Hayate at her. Coincidentally, Havoc is quite the hopeless romantic himself. I figured, what if Rebecca was Havoc's girlfriend before they transfer to Central, right?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! Kudos, comments and feedback are very much welcome. Again, I'm open for constructive criticism! See you in the next chapter!
> 
> UPDATE: Thank you dreamsandshadows for pointing out the dialogue tags! I already fixed them!


	3. Log 03: Maria Ross and Denny Brosh

**Log 03 - Maria Ross and Denny Brosh**  
  


First Lieutenant Ross and Master Sergeant Brosh bowed nonstop by the doorway, sputtering ‘sorry’s like bullets of a machine gun. 

Rebecca cocked her head. She recognizes Maria Ross from the coup d'etat. And the other fellow… ah, must be another one of Alex Armstrong’s subordinates. Although Rebecca did her research before coming to Central, she never knew it would be useful. 

Brosh looked up at them apologetically. “We were supposed to fetch some records—”

“And wait for you to finish,” Maria continued.

“But we couldn’t help but hear the commotion—”

“Fancy word for eavesdropping!” Rebecca yanked their ears and dragged them into the room. She pushed them over to Havoc, who clicked his tongue at the sight of them. “Alright, kiddos. How much have you heard?”

Ross and Brosh exchanged glances, bowed down, and recited in unison. “All of it.”

“All of it?!” Rebecca shrieked in horror. She rested a hand on her forehead and dramatically leaned back. “My reputation has been stained!”

“I was here the whole time, too, you know.” Sheska squeaked. 

Rebecca barely gave her a glance. “Oh, I kinda forgot you’re there for a sec.”

Sheska paled. “You did?”

“Same here,” declared Havoc.

A giant text that spells 'wallflower' was stamped on Sheska’s forehead. She wobbled in a mix of embarrassment and pain. “A-am I that quiet?”

“Not quite, sweetie.” Rebecca reassured her then glared at Havoc. “Someone here’s just too damn loud!” 

“What?!” Havoc yelped. “You’re blaming me again?”

“Please,” Maria Ross interjected. “If there’s anyone to blame, it would be us.”

“But,” Denny Brosh added. “We guarantee not a single word will come out about the journals or your relationship—” 

“We’re not in a relationship!” came Rebecca and Havoc’s automatic response.

Brosh and Ross bowed down again and spat another round of sorry’s. 

“Oh boy,” Rebecca placed a hand on her forehead. “What am I ever gonna do with these two?”

“We’ll do anything you’d like!” The pair piped in.

“Anything?” Havoc piqued his interest.

“Anything!” exclaimed Brosh.

“As long as it’s within ethical bounds,” Maria Ross noted.

“Well then." Rebecca tapped her finger on the three journals. “Any ideas on how to get rid of these?”

“You were serious about that?” Havoc objected. “Those are _years_ of precious surveillance logs! You had no idea about the hassles of hiding it!”

“And you made a handwritten version of your ‘speculations’?” Rebecca cocked her hips, gesturing at the last word.

“It keeps us on track!” argued Havoc.

Ross and Brosh ignored their bickering superiors and read the journal titles in sync. Upon processing, their eyes widened. “Roy and Riza Observation Journal?”

Rebecca and Havoc ceased their banter. Havoc cleared his throat, accommodating the puzzled pair. “Yeah, got any problem with that?”

The duo exchanged a knowing look and nodded. Denny Brosh saluted. “Permission to speak freely, Sirs?” 

Rebecca blurt out a chuckle. “No need for that, Lieutenant Brosh—”

“We’re curious about them, too!” Brosh and Ross beamed in sync.

Rebecca blinked several times.

“Ha!” Havoc points a finger right at her. “Told ‘ya, you’re not keen enough!”

Rebecca huffed in annoyance. “Are you sure this nut head didn’t bribe you into this?”

“I doubt he would." Ross begged to differ. “I was told to ignore him if ever he approaches me, so I don’t talk to him when it's not needed.”

The words zoomed like arrows and pierced right into Havoc’s heart.

“If someone would bribe us,” Brosh pondered. “Armstrong would have been the one to do so. Lieutenant Havoc never gives us any monetary incentive, even though he claims he will.”

Another imaginary arrow flew and pierced right across Havoc’s head.

Rebecca laughed haughtily. She noted it as one of her many victories.

Havoc scowled. “Laugh all you want, Catalina, but the fact remains that they support me and the journal!”

Rebecca's lips curled into a satisfied grin. “Convince me.”

Havoc gestured to the pair to share their insights, determined not to lose the fight.

“Well,” Ross went on. “There was this one occurrence.”

Brosh looked at her. Then his eyes widened at the memory. “Oh, the one after the 5th Laboratory incident!”

Havoc and Catalina affixed their gaze on him. Rebecca’s eyebrows arched, “And?”

Brosh cleared his throat.

> Sirens woke the sleeping Central streets. Within the buzzing ambulance, the unconscious Havoc lay on the stretcher, with Brosh and Ross holding him steady. A nurse stayed vigilant for his vitals, and sitting across her were the Colonel and the Lieutenant. Everyone was quiet, save for the tremendously noisy banters their superiors were engaging in. It has been going on since the moment they rescued them from the scene. 
> 
> And when they first came in the vehicle, Brosh noticed their discussion ignite after the nurse attempted to flirt at the Colonel. 
> 
> “Seriously, Colonel, you risked your life twice this day.” Riza raged. “If this is your way of making it up to me for being useless, then it’s a foolish attempt.”
> 
> Roy pouted, guilty as charged. “I know, I know, I know, I got reckless, okay?”
> 
> “You always are!” fumed Riza. “What if Alphonse and I weren’t there? You would have collapsed and bled to death!”
> 
> Roy scratched his head. “In my defense, I couldn’t just lie there while that bitch stabs people as if they were barbecue.”
> 
> “And you’re the one who adds fuel to it all!”
> 
> “On the contrary, I was the one who roasted her, you're welcome.”
> 
> Riza let out an irritated grunt. 
> 
> “How about I return the question to you,” Roy shifted his position. “If I weren’t there— ow ow ow ow!”
> 
> Roy writhed as he felt a sharp pain on his abdomen. Riza’s expression quickly shifted, her eyes now bearing concern. “Colonel!”
> 
> Riza pressed a cold compress on his burn. The nurse abruptly approaches them, and Roy draws a hand up, signaling her not to get any closer. 
> 
> “Havoc needs your care more than I do,” he winced, his voice hoarse. “Besides,” his eyes drifted to Riza. “I have my Lieutenant with me.”
> 
> Riza looked back at him. For a while, they fell silent, until Roy continued speaking. “I don’t suppose you know why I risked my life on both those occasions?”
> 
> “Pardon, Sir?”
> 
> “And when I come rushing to your aid— I find you giving up on life?” He flicked Riza’s forehead, who flinched upon contact. Roy sighed, “Idiot. I’ve never felt this useless.”
> 
> With that, he closed his eyes. Before Riza could respond, he started snoring. Her lips pursed into a small smile, “Idiot.”
> 
> Maria Ross whispered to Brosh, “We didn’t happen to sign up on a soap opera, did we?”
> 
> “I feel like we should’ve paid to watch this," muttered Brosh.
> 
> Riza shot them an icy glare. The pair of officers shuddered— and they glued their eyes on anywhere else but Roy and Riza.
> 
> When they had arrived at the hospital, the Lieutenant had also fallen asleep— with her head resting on the Colonel’s shoulder. 

  
“No way!” Rebecca exclaimed, jotting down their insights on one of the journals. Sheska wiped the sweat from her forehead, tired as Rebecca told her to take down notes as well.

Havoc grinned from ear-to-ear. “Not the devil’s advocate now, huh?”

“Shut up,” Rebecca hissed, then turned to the duo. “Tell me more!”

“Are you sure we’re allowed to discuss this?” Maria Ross argued. “If we get caught…” She gasped. A spotlight comically flashed right at her as she drew her hand on her forehead, “My family will disown me if I go to jail— again.”

“How about you guys bring something on the table, too?” Brosh raised a finger. “A tit for tat.”

“That’s right!” Ross perked up. “Equivalent exchange.”

Havoc sighed. “And what are we supposed to say—”

“We’ve dated,” proclaimed Rebecca.

“What?!” Havoc yelled and his voice echoed throughout the room. Everyone shushed him. Then he whispered aloud, “How can you give it away that easily?”

“I needed sources about my best friend,” Rebecca spat, resting a fist on her hip. “Besides, you’re the one who wants me curious about them, right?”

Sheska cupped her face with her palms. “Three forbidden romances— all in one discussion!”

“Three?”

“We’re not together!” Ross and Brosh roared. Rebecca hmmed. She believes this to be true. They’re not precisely in simpatico at the moment.

“Oh, but soon,” Sheska fiddles her index fingers together. “Very soon.”

“Oy, four-eyes,” Havoc pointed at her, changing the subject. “You better not be logging us on your ‘fraterni-what-not’ list!”

“I think it’s not fraternization if it happened prior to enlistment.” Sheska mused. “But I still won’t spill a single word about it!”

“Alright, let’s cut to the chase.” Rebecca stepped on a chair, her elbow resting on one knee. “Führer’s meeting might be over soon, so I haven’t got all day.”

“As for observations,” Maria Ross tapped her chin. “I can assume there were so many, but somehow I can’t list another one.”

“See, I told you writing it down is useful!” Havoc exclaimed. Rebecca ignored his remark; her ears strained for more of this peculiar pairing.

“Oh, there’s one!” Brosh cut in. “How about the time when Dr. Knoxx told us to check up on them?”

“After the coup d'etat?” Ross asked. “Oh, that’s right. He scolded us for not doing the job well, hadn’t he?”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to ruin their moment.”

“Ahem,” Rebecca cleared her throat. “Would you mind sharing it with the class?” 

“Ah, not at all,” Ross waved her hands. Ross let out a breath heavy with determination. 

> Sunlight peered from the hospital windows. It had been days after the Promised Day, and Amestris had just begun its recovery. The faint clanking of metals was heard in the background as Central HQ started to reconstruct its damaged wing. Just as the city is healing, its citizens are also recuperating. 
> 
> “Room 4317, Room 4317, Room…” Maria Ross reiterated as she walked down the hallways of Central Hospital. Dr. Knoxx instructed her to check on the Colonel and Lieutenant personally. He told her he doesn’t trust the nurses and found it better if someone who works with them would assess their condition. Ross assumed he meant to check on them emotionally-wise. 
> 
> “Looking for something?” Denny Brosh walked beside her, much to Ross’ surprise.
> 
> “Oh, Brosh,” said Ross, not stopping her pace. “What brings you here?”
> 
> “I was assigned to check on the Elric brothers again,” he replied. “They grow up so fast.”
> 
> “Yeah, but I doubt they grew much from our visit yesterday,” Ross spoke frankly, her eyes still on the room numbers. “I’m actually in the middle of something here.”
> 
> “May I help?”
> 
> “Of course.” Ross showed him the number. 
> 
> “You’re on the wrong wing!” Brosh pointed out. “That’s 4377.”
> 
> “It is?” Ross drew the note closer and gasped. “It is!”
> 
> The pair trotted their way to the West Wing. Their noses wrinkled as the stench of ethyl alcohol roamed in the air. As they approached, they found the door ajar. Ross and Brosh exchanged glances, then decided they would wait for the right time to intrude. 
> 
> “Is that you, Lieutenant?” asked the sight-deprived Roy. 
> 
> “Yes, Sir.” Riza sat on the cot beside him. They have been sharing the room, and Ross assumes it’s because the hospital capacity was full, following the recent events.
> 
> Riza combed her hair with her fingers and settled herself down. “I came back from the market.” 
> 
> “The market?!” Roy exclaimed. “But you haven’t even recovered yet.”
> 
> ”But I’m here now,” Riza replied flatly. Her remark was followed by a crisp, crumpling sound of a paper bag. “I brought you something.”
> 
> “That better not be raw fish.” 
> 
> “That would be unlikely, Sir.” 
> 
> Then, there was a swishing sound of peeling. Roy’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are those potatoes?”
> 
> “Apples, Colonel.” Riza cuts a slice. 
> 
> Roy found himself smiling. It was his favorite.
> 
> Silence elapsed. Just as Brosh and Ross were about to knock, Riza spoke. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
> 
> Roy cocked his head, “Go ahead.”
> 
> “But I admit I’m afraid of what you might say.”
> 
> Roy let out a breath and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know I’m not as frank as you are, Lieutenant.”
> 
> Riza chopped another slice. There was a long pause, perhaps she was hesitant. “Do you resent me?”
> 
> Roy snapped his head toward her. “For what?”
> 
> “If I were able to dodge the enemies, we would have proceeded with the plan.” Riza pondered, her voice as soft as a whisper. “If I could have checked my bullets, you wouldn’t have been forced to do human transmutation.” Her voice began to shake. “The Truth wouldn’t have gotten your vision, and you wouldn’t have suffered this much—”
> 
> “But there’s a way out of it,” Roy consoled her. “There’s no point in drowning ourselves in regrets.”
> 
> His hand managed to reach up to her shoulder and fondled a strand of her hair. “No, I don’t resent you. In fact, I never will.”
> 
> His touch warmed the patch of skin on Riza’s neck, who stiffened upon contact. Although her wound was still fresh, she was sure it wasn’t the one that caused the tension. For Roy, it was his way of reassuring the Lieutenant, now that he couldn't communicate with her through his gaze.
> 
> “You don’t have to be so hard on yourself," crooned Roy. "Hell, the plan itself was flawed. In fact, nothing in this world is ever perfect.” He then tucks her hair on her ear. “But that’s what makes it beautiful.”
> 
> Silence. Riza opened her mouth to speak, but Roy interrupted her with a soft chuckle. “I don’t even need to see it to believe it—”
> 
> Riza shoves a slice of apple into his mouth. “Stop that.”
> 
> "Stop what?" Roy spoke with his mouth full.
> 
> “Talking as if your impairment is permanent.” Riza put down her fork. “Keep that up, and we’d cancel your appointment to Dr. Marcoh.”

“And we left,” Maria Ross huffed. “We wouldn’t want to get caught in an awkward position with them.”

Rebecca squints at the duo. “When will you two ever stop eavesdropping?”

“It’s a coincidence!” Ross and Brosh contended.

Havoc groaned, rubbing his face with his palms. “So, are we really gonna shred these journals?”

Rebecca bit her lip. “How did you say you hid it, again?”

“We can just let Sheska remember all of it,” Brosh proposed. “She did it recall every single record from the burned-down library.”

“That’s a crazy idea!” Maria Ross protested. “I don’t think she needs to be directly involved with all this!”

“Or we can write all of it in some kind of code,” Sheska suggested.

All eyes were on her as if she were Isaac Newton. Sheska squeaked, “Just like what alchemists do with their research?”

“Four-eyes, you’re brilliant!” Havoc exclaimed.

Rebecca placed a hand on her chin. “But how do you suggest we do this code?”

All five of them cast their eyes downward. They never thought thinking about a code would be hard.

“Erotic romance novels?” Sheska proposed.

“Sheska," Rebecca uttered in complete shock. "I never knew you had that in you.”

“Nah, scratch that.” Havoc waved his hand in dismissal. “Mustang already thought of that. He uses that for his alchemy research.”

“He does?!” yipped Maria Ross.

Havoc shrugged. “‘Can’t tell if that guy’s a pervert or a genius.” 

“Perhaps both.” Brosh winced. 

“Let’s get back to the topic, please?” demanded Rebecca. “It’s getting late!”

“Uh, animal behavior?”

“Human anatomy!”

“Musical notes?”

“Mathematical equations?”

“Err, nature?”

“Land formation?”

“Bodies of Water?”

“Just what exactly are you all doing?” Riza came into the room with a displeased look on her face. She expected to hear the pitter-patter of the typewriter or at least the scribbling on paper. But all she heard was this _nonsense_. Were they only playing a game this whole time? She scanned the room, and her eyes twitched at the mess. It was as if a tornado flew around the room before she came.

Riza then glared at Havoc. “I wondered why the paperwork hadn’t returned.”

“They’re helping me out,” Rebecca chimed in. “Führer’s orders.” Behind her, she pushes the journals across the desk. Sheska caught them and propped some files on top of it.

“And it consists of… educational subjects?” Riza leaned against the doorway, hands crossed. 

“An essay,” Maria Ross blurted out, then bit her tongue.

“An essay?” Riza arched an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“Or so we’re told,” Brosh came to the rescue. “Catalina said she’s not allowed to disclose further details.”

“Ah, yes.” Rebecca nodded, her composure returning. “We are to come up with any, uh, symbolism about the military government.”

“For propaganda?” Riza asked.

“That I can’t tell.” Rebecca stood her ground. She desperately wanted to change the subject.

“Err,” Havoc stammered. “How about Firearms? That’s why you approached us, right, Catalina?”

“Right!” Rebecca perked up. “That's what I had in mind.” The rest of them bobbed their heads in agreement. They’re all terrible liars. 

“If it’s for propaganda,” Riza’s eyes were cast down, deep in focus. “Shouldn’t it be more appealing to the citizens?”

“I think I’m alright with firearms,” Sheska tried her best not to stutter.

“Certainly,” supported Ross.

“Same thoughts.” Brosh supplied. They all wished she would leave by now.

“Symbolism… Firearms… Fire and gunpowder… ” Riza was still in deep thought. Everyone tensed, hoping Hawkeye wouldn’t probe any further. Then her eyes lit up. “How about fireworks?”

Rebecca gasped. “Perfect!” 

“Well said, Captain!” Havoc saluted. 

The rest of them clapped, reacting far too enthusiastic than planned. 

Ross cupped her cheeks with her hands. “It really suits th— the task!”

Rebecca flung her arms to hug her best friend. “Thank you, Ri!” 

Riza was perplexed by their sudden applause, but she returned the embrace without hesitation. “Anything for a friend.”

“I have the chemistry of fireworks memorized!” Sheska proclaimed. 

“Fantastic!” Rebecca clapped her hands. “How long will you be able to finish it?”

Sheska pursed her lips. “I might get busy with some assignments... so, about 2-3 weeks? But I might need some help with how gunpowder works.”

“Lucky for you, that’s our specialty!” Havoc patted Maria Ross’ shoulder, who squeaked in agreement, “Yep, yep, truly is!”

“I can help with the binding!” offered Brosh. “But I’m not sure about the shredding—” Brosh bit the insides of his cheeks as he realized he slipped his tongue.

Riza cocked her head. “Shredding?”

“We were tasked to get rid of falsified military records,” Rebecca spoke coolly. “I mean, if we want to win back the hearts of the citizens, we gotta keep a clean slate, right?”

Riza nodded. “Fair point.”

Rebecca let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. It pains her to lie to her best friend. But then again, they both had their share of illicit affairs. Equivalent exchange, perhaps.

Riza walked across the room and examined the mountain of paperwork Havoc left. “Mind if I take these? I wasn’t able to proofread it.”

“No, not at all!” Sheska chirped. With that, Riza restacked the papers, and her hands hovered above the files on top of the journals—

“Ah, that’s mine!” Sheska quickly stashed them in her drawer, eliciting suspicion. Riza opened her mouth to speak, but before any sound came out, Sheska was the first to spit out words. “Just erotic romance novels.”

“Oh.” Riza averted her gaze, dumbfounded. She didn’t find it in her to judge Sheska, especially since the Brigadier General has an entire shelf of those.

The rest of them tried their hardest to keep their mouths shut, struggling to prevent any laughter from seeping through it.

“Thank you, Sheska,” Riza picked up the pile of papers and trod her way to the door. “It would be best that you follow, Lieutenant Havoc.”

Havoc stiffened but trailed behind her. “Yes, Sir!”

As the two left, they all let out a sigh.

“That was close,” Ross placed a hand on her chest. 

“Nicely done, guys!” Rebecca gave them a thumbs up.

“Thanks for the save earlier, Catalina.” Brosh scratches his cheek. “But I could shred the journals after coding. Paper’s our family business.”

“Not a problem,” Rebecca ruffled his hair, then leered at them all. “Unless a single word gets out of here.”

They all gulped. “Our mouths are shut!”

“Good.”

“I-I’ll hand over the coded journal once it's finished!” Sheska pronounced. “I'll have it done right before they leave for Ishval.”

“Alright, that settles it then.” Rebecca declared. She reminisced over the word 'Ishval' and wondered if things would have been different if she got promoted along with Riza. If so, she would have gone to that dreaded war. It must have been a terrible experience for Riza, and Rebecca wished she could openly share it with her. She shook her thoughts away, hoping that day would soon come. “Well, I shall take my leave. Thanks for all your help!”

Rebecca waved goodbye and left the room. She wore a determined look on her as she paced towards the final step of her assignment: reporting for duty. 

Although she’d rather not mention the matters to the Führer, she bet he’ll still pester her for updates on the journals.   
  


* * *

**  
The Day before Ishval (Late Autumn, 1915)**

The warehouses in Central HQ were covered with the golden tint of sunset. Crisp autumn leaves blew with the wind, rustling its way to the empty lot. The area was undisturbed, save for the panting huffs and dirt flinging up in the air.

Black Hayate pawed the ground; particles of soil rocketed off behind him. Falman failed to dodge the mud, spewing some of it out of his mouth.

“Easy, boy, easy!” Falman grunts. He called Breda in disdain, “Help me out here, will ‘ya?”

Breda, who has made a considerable distance from the hound, shook his head violently. “Nuh-uh.”

“Come on,” Falman nagged him from afar. “Constant exposure would help get the phobia away!”

“Says who?” shouted Breda, which echoed throughout the place.

“Says Psychology!” Falman yelled back. He then muttered curses under his breath. If only Fuery and Havoc weren’t busy, he would not have been stuck on dog duty with a man with cynophobia.

Hayate didn’t bother to look at them. He stops his digging and drops a saliva-covered bundle of shredded paper unto the compost pit he made.

“Good dog,” Falman threw another bundle at him, who caught it seamlessly. Hayate digs onto the ground once again.

“If anyone asks,” Breda approached them cautiously, his uniform drenched with sweat. “We’re making mulch.”

“Technically, it is mulch,” Falman mused. “Shredded paper can be recycled into organic fertilizer.”

Breda let out a sigh. “At least one of us is enjoying all this.”

Hayate barked, to which Breda jolted and scrammed away. Hayate’s eyes beckon them to give him more to dig. Falman shrugged. “That makes two out of three.”

Breda took his aim from a distance and threw another bundle at the canine, “Here comes the last one!”

Hayate fetched it and started his final digging. 

“So,” Falman proceeded toward Breda. “The journals were compiled and coded into one?”

“Yup.”

“And where is it now?”

“It’s with Fuery," said Breda. “He says he’ll hide it somewhere no one will suspect.”

“Don’t tell me he’s taking it to Ishval,” dreaded Falman.

“I think it’s for safekeeping,” Breda noted. “Who knows, someone might snatch it from us again.”

“But what if it’s Mustang and Hawkeye?”

Hayate perked up his ears upon the mention of his owner. Breda thought for a moment, then replied. “Even if they do, I doubt they’ll confront us.”

“You have quite the confidence there, Breda,” warned Falman.

“It’s true!” Breda argues. “Now that it’s coded, we could just deny it’s about them.”

Falman let out an ‘oh.’ He nodded, now riding on Breda’s train of thoughts. “And confronting us would only confirm their relationship.”

“Exactly.”

Falman and Breda’s discussion was interrupted by a hissing noise. Their heads slowly turned to Hayate, who was marking his territory on the pit.

“Hayate, stop!” Breda squeezed his head in shock. The dog did not obey. 

Falman belched out a chuckle, “That’s good for the fertilizer.”

Black Hayate turned about and kicked dust onto it. He growled at the thought that he was digging records about his master and _that_ man.

“Looks like someone doesn’t want ‘em together,” Breda crossed his arms.

“Of course, they’re competing for Hawkeye’s attention,” speculated Falman.

“Speak of the devil, we gotta head back,” Breda packed the now-empty boxes. The sky was already indigo.

“Agreed, the Captain might get suspicious if we return Hayate late.” Falman sighed and helped in packing up. “And my fiancé would scold me if I ever missed her call— Hayate, what are you—”

Hayate crouched on the compost pit and dropped his stool. Breda and Falman gawked and dropped their jaws. 

Breda frowned. “Well, there goes our dinner.” 

Hayate once again dusted soil onto his waste, burrowing the idea of Roy and Riza’s relationship down the grave. He grunted. Black Hayate wouldn’t let Roy get away the next time he sees him with Riza. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts? I'd love to hear about it! Kudos, bookmarks, comments, and feedback always make my day! Feel free to point out anything about my writing!
> 
> I have so much to comment in this chapter. First of all, Ross and Brosh are so adorable. I see them as a really wholesome tandem. But, I prefer to leave it to you if you see them in a romantic light. Aside from that, I set up some parallelism here with Ed and Al's arc on decoding Dr. Marcoh's notes. And yes, Ross and Brosh eavesdrop once again! As seen on FMAB, I love their side comments and whispers, even if the person in question is right in front of them.
> 
> Also, did you find that apple scene familiar? Why, yes, I decided I inject some similar scenes from FMA here hihi. That scene convinced me to watch FMA 2003 HAHA 
> 
> I actually got the erotic romance novel idea from [ Reverberations by AntigoneRex ](https://m.fanfiction.net/s/7843051/1/Reverberations). It’s one of my favorite royai fanfics of all time!! 
> 
> But, I’ve put a more deeper meaning as to why his research is written that way. There’s a concept in alchemy about the union of man and woman (that’s why Ed and Al spoke about the eclipse and that the sun is male and moon is female). And Roy is raised in a brothel (implied).
> 
> P.S.: "a tornado flew around the room before you came" (I included this last minute and I always hum as I read it LOL)  
> Thank you so much for tuning in! I hope you have a great day and stay tuned!
> 
> Next Chapter: Black Hayate! 
> 
> (special mention to firewoodfigs, vade_brucestephenbucky, and priscilladm! They were really looking forward to this Hayate chapter wahaha and to be honest I did the draft of that chapter first before Chapter 2 and 3 HAHA so I might post it sooner than you think!)


	4. Log 04: Black Hayate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Advanced happy October 3rd! (I opted to post this now as I felt I might get stacked up with uni work on that day HUHU). The much-awaited chapter is here! I hope you don’t mind the tone change here (I can finally get into my usual detailed writing style now that the humor genre is toned down sksksks). 
> 
> Alas, the hurt/comfort genre begins. Things are gonna get a bit serious here, since this chapter reveals minute portions of their past and ‘relationship.’ And all details are connected to the future chapters and to Meridian, especially "time waits for no one."
> 
> Also: I’m a firm believer that Riza is only two years younger than Roy, so for this story, she was born in 1887. And I believe Riza’s full name is Elizabeth, a mix of Berthold and Eliza (yes, I baptized her mother with the name Eliza for this sole reason).

**Log 04: Black Hayate**

**1894 (Riza: 7 years old)**

_Owls hooted, crickets chirped. Moonlight shined on blades of grass, and trees glistened silver as if its arrowhead leaves were made of glass. The forests of the West were vast and lush, a virgin of human touch. At the heart of it, however, rests a vintage mansion— the nest of the Hawkeyes._

_Eliza Hawkeye, Riza’s mother, was reading her Rapunzel for the nth time. It was an Amestrian classic._

_Riza, age 7, looked up at her mother. She was her carbon copy, save for her mother’s crystal blue eyes and long, ringlet hair. Riza eyed the princess in the storybook and ran her fingers through her own short, blonde locks. “Why can’t I grow my hair that long?”_

_“So the witch won’t come up your tower." Eliza pulls a blanket up to Riza’s neck._

_“But there are no witches!”_

_“Hmm.” Eliza smoothened the wrinkles on the blanket. “Well, so that ‘bad things’ won’t follow.”_

_“Like what?”_

_“Like tripping over your long hair! And spending all your time washing and combing it!”_

_“But, what about the prince?”_

_Eliza pondered for a while. “He can climb the tower himself.”_

_“That tall?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“But what if he’ll fall, like he did in the end?”_

_“Well." She combs Riza’s hair. “If you truly care for a person, you can meet them halfway.”_

_“Equivalent exchange?”_

_“Yes." Eliza froze. “How did you know about that?”_

_“I read Father’s books.”_

_“You did, now?”_

_Riza nodded shyly. The candle lamp flickered, and only the crickets were heard. The moment was serene, and Eliza resumed combing Riza's hair. Riza knew she would never forget her mother’s reassuring touch._

_After a while, Riza broke the silence. “ I don’t like short hair. People think I’m a boy.”_

_Eliza laughed. “They probably said that to make themselves feel better after you beat them up.”_

_“Mother!” Riza shied beneath the sheets. “Please don’t tell Father I fought with them.”_

_“Of course, I won’t.”_

_“Pinky promise?” Riza drew out her hand._

_Eliza clutches her small finger. “Pinky promise._

_Riza unfurled the bedsheets, her hair in a tangled mess. Eliza combed them once again. “People can say what they want. But you don’t have to rely on them to make your own choices.”_

_“So, is it okay if I don’t wait for a prince?” Riza looked up at her. “If I were her, I’d use all that hair to escape from the tower.”_

_Eliza stopped combing, stunned by her level of comprehension. “Why, Riza, I never thought of that before.”_

_Riza pulled her blanket to her mouth, embarrassed. “Does that make me smarter than Father?”_

_“That makes you smarter than any of us!” Eliza tickled her stomach. The vintage mansion was filled with giggles and genuine joy._

_When it subsided, Eliza unclasped her earrings and pinned them to each of Riza’s earlobes._

_“There, no one can mistake you for a boy,” Eliza tucked a strand on Riza’s ear. “That’s also something to remember me while I’m away.”_

_Riza frowned. “Do you have to go?”_

_“Only for a short while," Eliza reassured. “The world needs saving.”_

_“Can’t the world wait?”_

_“Apparently, it doesn’t.” Eliza chuckled. “Time waits for no one. Science changes every day, and we need to keep up with its pace.”_

_She taps on Riza’s nose. “That’s why I’m counting on you to wait for me.”_

_“But I don’t want to wait!”_

_“Then I’ll wait for you.” She smiles. “Someday, you’ll make the world a better place, our little Elizabeth.”_

_Riza looked at her one last time, then tucked herself in bed. “Don’t be long,” she shut her eyes. “Or, you’ll see me with really long hair.”_

_Eliza kissed her forehead. “I’ll give it just the right trim when I come back.”_

* * *

_Eliza approached Berthold in his study. Candles surround him as if he were part of a ritual, and books cascaded on top of each other like stairs. Eliza smiled at the sight; he was always so skeptical about their research. “Please take good care of our daughter.”_

_Berthold looked back at her tenderly. “You know I always do.”_

_“About our research,” she abruptly propped her briefcase on the desk. “I don’t think I can entrust it to the military.”_

_Berthold looked at her, perplexed. “Why the sudden change of plans?”_

_Eliza scanned their surroundings before proceeding. “They’re up to something.”_

_“Even Grumman?”_

_“No. He’s the one who told me.”_

_Before Berthold could speak, she leaned forward and whispered to his ear. “They’re seeking immortality.”_

_Berthold’s eyebrows furrowed, “Is there even such a thing?” He only read about it in the Legend of Xerxes, nothing but an unscientific myth._

_“I do not know,” Eliza admitted. “But they’re willing to risk everything to get it.” Eliza looked into his eyes, serious about the matter. “When my father declined their offer, they plucked him out of Central and transferred him East.”_

_“Preposterous!” Berthold slammed his hands on his desk. “El, you have to get out—”_

_“Keep a low profile. Tutor Riza instead,” She cautioned. “We’ve made the right choice to cut all ties and live in the West, but it might not be enough.”_

_Eliza drew out a paper from her briefcase. “Take this. Hide it somewhere no one can find it.”_

_Berthold’s eyes widened. It was the unfinished emblem of flame alchemy, what they both had been working on for years. “If this stays hidden, how will this help others—”_

_“My father says he’s found an apprentice.” She closed her briefcase. “I trust his judgment.”_

_"How can you be so sure—"_

_“But I trust you the most.” Eliza said, then gave Berthold her final embrace. “I’ll leave it to you to finish it.”_

_Amid it all, Riza was sleeping soundly, hopeful for her mother’s return._

_But all that came back was news. Bad news. Eliza never fulfilled her promise, and Riza resorted to cutting her own hair. Perhaps her mother was right; growing her hair out does come with bad things. It was silly of her to believe in superstitions, especially being raised in an environment meticulous in the pursuit of Truth. However, she found it comforting. If it meant to prevent any mishap, she'll take all her chances, even if it is not supported by fact. After all, no one ever knows the Truth. Not even her father, who now spent his days in solitude in attempts to grasp the Truth._

_Following those events, an unlikely visitor came by their doorstep._

_“Riza, this is Roy Mustang,” Berthold introduced him flatly. “He’ll be staying for a while as my apprentice.”_

_Riza eyed him curiously. Roy waved his hand, a measly smile plastered on his face. She then shied behind Berthold, much to Roy’s astonishment._

_It seemed that princes still come without her being in the waiting._

* * *

**The Day Before Ishval (Late Autumn, 1915)**

The sun had just set, and Central was cloaked with the shadows of the night. 7:00 PM was a busy hour for its citizens; some rushed home for dinner, others crashed shops, and flashed their money. Each of them has their own agenda, buzzing from street to street. But not for Riza Hawkeye.

7:00 PM meant a hot shower and a power nap. Riza has hit the sheets the moment she got home from work. And so, her apartment room was silent and undisturbed. All things were left neat and organized; not a single patch of dust was found on any surface. All her mugs and silverware were arranged by size and color. Even her luggage for Ishval had already been prepared months ago. 

Perhaps, she was a little bit too organized. If she were an ordinary citizen, she would have had take-home dinner on her desk instead of take-home paperwork. Black Hayate whimpered at the height of the documents, then gazed at Riza’s alarm clock. It had rung several times, but Riza was still fast asleep.

Black Hayate pounced on her bed and licked the soles of her feet. He always does that whenever she sleeps like a log.

“Mm,” Riza _cooed_ heavenly. “N-not there.” Giggles then escaped between her breaths. Sheets shuffled as she attempted to kick Black Hayate. She _moaned_. Then, her eyes popped open.

Riza irked up. Her gaze met Hayate’s, whose leash was between his teeth. She then looked at the time— 7:30 PM. Riza sighed. She overslept. 

Hawkeye planted her feet on the ground and ruffled Hayate’s fur. She felt grains of dirt on her fingertips; perhaps Breda and Falman let him dig on the empty lot again. Then she arose and opened her wardrobe. Black Hayate turned away as Riza pulled off her pajamas. After a quick _swoosh,_ she had changed into her civilian attire. She had worn a beige cardigan over a white turtleneck with a tawny, long pencil skirt wrapped around her waist, draping down her calves. It had buttons on its side— a must in her everyday wear. For when an emergency hits, she can easily pop it open and grab the gun on her thigh holster. 

“Let’s go, BraHa.”

Black Hayate barked and wagged his tail. And alas, they were outdoors. It had been so long since his master took him out for a night walk, and Riza wasn’t even with him the whole time. One minute they were in the underground tunnels, and the next, Fuery took him in. Riza left him for that cocky, dark-haired man— and he never once liked him at all. When all the humans around him dropped to the ground, he barked nonstop and left numerous scratches at Fuery’s door— a remnant of his attempts to escape and find his master. It had been days before Black Hayate saw Riza again; and when they finally reunited, she had a wound slit on her throat. Hayate suspected it was all Mustang’s fault. How dare he take her away from him and hurt his human? A growl gurgled between his teeth.

“Hayate,” Riza glowered at him. “Behave.”

Black Hayate obeyed Hawkeye’s command and trotted in front of her. His tail wagged unconsciously at the thought of finally being beside her. He’ll never let anyone or anything harm her again.

Laughter and idle chatter filled the Central streets. Lights and shadows danced around lamp posts as dozens of passersby crossed them. The cobblestone felt cool on his paws, and a cold breeze blew against them. Hayate breathed in the icy gust; it was that time of the year again. He looked back at his master— she had dressed well for the season. Riza tucked her hands in her pockets, and her cardigan flowed along with the wind. With her blonde hair cut short again, she looked like the Snow Queen. She was as captivating as usual, but her eyes were different. They were unfocused, seeming to look at something Hayate couldn’t see. He presumed she was in deep thought.

They passed by stores, cafes, and flower shops. Hawkeye stopped at one diner and came back with a cloth bag hanging on her arm. Black Hayate sniffed its contents, and the savory aroma of beef tickled his nostrils. Drool dripped from the canine’s mouth; he couldn’t wait to chow down to it, especially since it seemed too plenty for the both of them.

After an hour strolling down pavements, Black Hayate finally recognized where they were going. A quiet alley with a narrow rent house on its dead-end— they were going to Roy Mustang’s.

Hayate comically lunged backward, stopping himself from taking another paw further. Hawkeye chuckled at his reaction. “It’s just the Brigadier General, BraHa.”

He snarled at the mention of that man, and Hawkeye stooped down to his eye level. Her reassuring gaze was enough to calm him down. Then Riza patted and ruffled his fur. “Silly dog. He won’t take me away.”

A bark echoed from behind them; it was thinner than Black Hayate’s. Hayate jerked his head towards its direction— and there stood a white Shiba Inu. Hayate’s snout flared. Judging by the scent, it’s a female. 

“Captain?” Roy Mustang walked right towards them, and the white dog trotted beside him. His white button-down fit snugly against his torso. As he approached them, his hands were tucked in his slacks, and his black military coat blew with the wind. Judging by his clothes, it appeared he had also gone out for a walk… with a new pet. Mustang halted a few feet away from them. “What brings you here?”

“I have some papers for you to check," Riza said as she stood up, dusting the hem of her maxi skirt. 

Roy groaned. “Again? But our trip to Ishval is tomorrow—”

“It’s _because_ our trip is tomorrow,” stressed Riza.

All while they’re bickering, Black Hayate cautiously inspected his female counterpart. She does not seem to concern him. Eager to catch her attention, Hayate suddenly sped his way to her, dragging Riza along with him.

 _Thud!_ Riza hit Mustang by the shoulder. The white dog desperately avoided Hayate, and the two circled their owners. Hayate’s leash got tangled with the white dog’s, coiling Roy and Riza together. On impulse, Mustang held Riza’s shoulders, to keep both of them from falling.

“Ow!” He winced. Riza stepped on his foot. She immediately apologized, and Roy swears he could feel her breath blowing against his mouth. _Good lord,_ she smelled of vanilla with a hint of gunpowder. It sparked nostalgia from the far corners of his mind.

“Hayate!” Riza’s grunt cuts Roy’s thoughts. Her chin was rested on her shoulder— her best attempt to avoid any contact with Roy’s face. 

Black Hayate whimpered, backing away to untangle them from his leash. Once released, Riza picked up her belongings from the floor. “Mind explaining the _dog_ , Brigadier?”

“Ah, yes.” Mustang smoothed the wrinkles on his polo. “Captain, Hayate, meet White Chianti.”

“White Chianti?” Riza arched an eyebrow. “Naming a dog from liquor? That sounds very much like you.”

Roy puffed his chest, his mouth drawn into his iconic self-conceited smirk. “What can I say, I’m good with—”

“That wasn’t a compliment, Sir.”

“At least admit it’s witty!” Mustang slouched and pouted his lips like a wet puppy. Riza only rolled her eyes. 

The dogs chased each other’s tails, getting acquainted with each other. Their panting and sniffs were the only noises heard, along with the distant horns and sirens of downtown Central. Then Riza breaks the ice. “I thought dogs wouldn’t last a day with you.”

“Me neither.”

Riza looked at him, intrigued. She half-expected him to disagree with her and start another banter. Roy noticed her astonishment and sighed. “Dr. Knox claims he’s in my debt. Apparently, he and his family reunited. Their son, who specializes in rehabilitation, gave me one of their guide dogs. I must say, she has been useful while I waited for my recovery. I might as well let her stick around.”

Riza gave him a small smile. “Says the one who called dogs as blind followers.”

“What can I say,” Roy proclaimed. “It is comforting to rely on someone, after all.”

He met her gaze, and Riza held it steadily. It was just the two of them in the alley, standing face-to-face in front of Mustang’s porch. Although none of them dared move an inch, how was it possible that Riza can feel his warmth just by his gaze? All at once, a cold, white flurry alighted on her lashes. Her eyelids fluttered as she blinked them off. Roy lifted his gloved palms and watched the icy silvery flakes feather down from the skies. 

“It’s snowing… in Central?” Riza watched the snowflakes fall, in awe. Snow rarely falls on Central. Roy was in awe as well, but his eyes were laid on somewhere else. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Riza met his eyes; it seemed they never left her. Roy, sensing her discomfort, averted his gaze.

To ease the knotty situation, Riza changed the subject. “I brought you dinner.”

“Oh? How thoughtful.” Roy fidgets with his gloves, a habit he does whenever he’s anxious or embarrassed. 

“Don’t get too pleased with yourself,” Riza said, eyes on her toes. “It’s not my cooking.”

“You’re too meek, Captain,” Roy scoffed. She always hated admitting she’s done something nice to him, but Roy always returns her favors. “Would you like to take this indoors?”

“Oh, I’m not sure.” Riza let out a breath, with fog escaping from her mouth. “I might not stay that long.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a series of sharp barking. Black Hayate and White Chianti were rolling on the blanket of snow, playing tag. Riza has never seen her BraHa that enthusiastic before.

“On second thought,” Riza bit her lip, “I might cancel that rain check.”

“Roger that.”

Roy welcomed her into his humble abode. It was a small and simple rent house, nothing like his flashy and ostentatious reputation. If he were an ordinary citizen, he would have maximized his salary with luxurious ornaments. Much to people’s dismay, his home was semi-furnished, only bearing the essentials: a dining table, a couch, shelves that kept his “erotic novels,” cupboards with a collection of liquor bottles, a sink, a restroom, and one bedroom. For a person who procrastinates, one would be surprised to find his luggage ready for Ishval. After all, has always been scrupulous about his appearance, never leaving a single wrinkle on his clothes or stubble on his face. If one barges into his home, they would utterly be in denial that it was his.

Riza, however, was accustomed to it all.

After Roy signed the final Ishval documents, the air was dead silent. But neither of them found it uncomfortable. Rather, it was the opposite. 

The clinking and clanking of silverware echoed across the living room as they consumed the beef stew and bread. Minutes later, Roy went into the kitchen and brought back a bottle of bourbon whiskey. “Refreshments?”

“No, thank you.” Riza sipped on her cup of hot lavender tea. “You know I don’t drink.”

“Thought you might want to.” Roy poured a glass of whiskey for himself. “Somehow, I always knew we’d be coming back to that hellhole.”

Riza eyed him cautiously, knowing it would be best not to dive into the subject. She scanned his liquor collection above the cupboard and found most of it untouched. “All those are from the Madame?”

“Yes.” Roy drank down the whiskey in one gulp. “Observant, aren’t you?”

“Do they plan on rebuilding the shop?”

“That I’m not sure.” Roy poured another round of liquor onto his glass. “Madame Christmas and the girls are still back in Xing.”

"Oh." Riza noted. They had been very accommodating the months after her father died; and so she had always wondered how they were doing, especially after Roy blew up their shop.

Roy read the questions in her eyes. “I told them I’d repay them tenfold.”

“As you should.” Riza spoke dryly. She observed that Roy was alternating between drinking his whiskey and eating beef stew. “I hope you don’t get stomach aches like you used to.”

“That was years ago!” Roy snapped, with his voice high-pitched. Then he sighed. “It’s your fault.”

“My fault?” Riza arched an eyebrow.

“You stopped giving me your cooking.”

Riza gave a soft laugh, indeed a rare moment. Any sound that came out of her lips was like the silky, eloquent vibrations of the violin. Or at least, to Roy’s perception.

After they finished eating, Roy offered to wash the dishes, but Riza insisted she does it instead. She argued that if she left it to him, dirty dishes would greet him when he comes back from Ishval.

They went out to the porch and poured the remainder of the stew on two food containers. They called the dogs, who ran as fast as they could to get a bite of their dinner. At their haste, Hayate even slipped down the porch. He eyed Mustang cautiously as he recovered from his fall. Usually, he would bark at him and rip out the bottom hem of his pants. This time, he wagged his tail and licked his palm, thankful for introducing him to a companion.

“Did you see that, Captain?” Roy gestured with a thumb. “He likes me!”

“He only _licked_ you, Brigadier.” Riza folded her arms. “But that’s one big step.”

They sat on the porch as their dogs gobbled up the food. More than an hour had passed since Riza came there and the alley was covered in white as if it were wiped out clean. Riza admired the scene, if only it were that easy to get a fresh start.

“Why’d you cut your hair?” Roy asked out of the blue.

“Does it bother you?” Riza replied flatly.

“Just curious,” stammered Roy. “Actually, I’m curious my whole life. When the girls read their favorite books, they aspire to look like the princesses.”

Riza turned to face him this time. “What are you trying to imply?”

“I thought you’d like to be Rapunzel,” Roy pointed out.

Riza seethed, “I do not.”

“But it was your favorite, I presume?” said Roy. It was the only book that changed placements on her Father's shelves.

Damn it all. Riza cursed at how observant Roy had always been. Sensing her hesitance, Roy shrugged, not wanting to sound pushy. “It’s alright, you don’t need to—”

“It was the last book my mother read to me.” Riza spoke softly. “After she passed, I decided to keep it short. It has always been a habit of mine, I'm surprised you hadn't noticed."

"So why did you keep it long after the war?"

Riza stared off into the distance. If she were an open book, she would have easily told Roy it's because she met Winry. A girl who lost both parents during the war was still beaming her cheerful smile, unfazed by grief. Riza thought it wouldn't hurt to keep her hair long too, just like Winry's. Perhaps it was the time to let go of her superstition. Besides, the years after Ishval were the years she felt safest, simply because Roy Mustang was now by her side. However, she had failed to protect him, and it caused her to relapse back into her old habit. But instead of sharing all these thoughts, Riza said, "I just wanted to try it out."

Roy nodded slowly, understanding it was a delicate topic. And so, he made an effort to make light of it. “So that makes me the prince?”

“Pardon?”

“That makes me the prince, from Rapunzel?” 

Riza stared at him, then burst into chuckles. It was candid yet graceful at the same time, just like how snowflakes are formed. There were crinkles at the corner of her eyes, and little dimples dug at the ends of her lips. Most people miss that tiny detail, mainly because her hands always cover her mouth when she laughs. Seconds of warm laughter from his Queen could melt the entire winter out, and Roy felt like he won the lottery twice that night.

As Riza contained herself, she commented. “Surely, you jest.”

“No, no, I’m certain I’m the prince,” Roy contended. “He did get blind in the end, didn’t he?”

Silence elapsed once more. And just like that, they’re back to being the superior and his subordinate. Roy mentally slapped his face for making such an insensitive remark. The answer to his earlier question finally dawned right at him. Riza still felt guilty, and chopping off her hair was her way to compensate for that guilt. 

Roy was about to comment on how her hair length doesn’t matter to him, but Riza had her gaze transfixed on the snow. He decided he’d stay quiet for a while.

Riza watched the snow cover everything in white powder. It reminded her of the first time she encountered the little white precipitates. 

> **Winter, 1900 (Riza: 13, Roy: 15)**
> 
> _Snow blanketed the grass. Riza, 13, wistfully stared at the glass window. Roy would have loved to see all the snow. Now, the mansion was empty after her father sent him out. It made her more estranged from him._
> 
> _Light seeped between the cracks of the wooden floor below her. Her father’s yelling then followed it. Riza did not mind the ruckus beneath her; perhaps her father had failed in his research again. Moments later, a knock was made on her bedroom door. Then it creaked open and revealed Berthold, leaning limply by the doorway with blood on his chest. And he... laughed._
> 
> _“Father!” Riza immediately sought his aid. He coughed out blood. Riza looked at him in horror, “What happened?”_
> 
> _“Your mother— I can’t—” he spewed blood again._
> 
> _“We need to send you to the infirmary—”_
> 
> _“It took— two things,” he coughed again. “B-but I— acquired one important thing.”_
> 
> _Riza held him steady; she could not understand a word he was saying. If her mother’s death took away anything, it would be her father’s sanity. Berthold then showed her a paper with a drawn alchemy emblem. It was complete._
> 
> _Suddenly, the cold turned into heat, and the snow turned into sand. Horrifying images of burnt corpses danced in Riza’s mind as sorrowful wailing screamed into her ears. Flames began to surround her, choking her every last breath—_

“Captain.” Roy woke her up from her trance. He noticed her hands were trembling. "Are you cold?"

Riza faced him with a look similar to what she had at the end of the Ishval war. “This is too much to ask but,” her eyes pleaded the same way they did when she asked him to burn off her scar. “Would it be alright if I stay for the night?”

* * *

**Road to Ishval (Early Winter, 1915)**

Black smoke belched out from the rushing train, its chugging and horn-roaring echoed throughout the cliffside. Fuery rested a hand on his chin, watching the scenery change from white snow to beige sand from the windowpane.

“Finally, the desert!” Havoc sat beside Fuery and swung his feet up. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Excited to get wet in my own sweat? Hell, no!” exclaimed Breda from behind their seats.

“We better get ourselves hydrated then.” Falman remarked. “Lucky for us, we won’t get something like frostbite.”

“What about heatstroke?” Breda said as if he swallowed a frog.

Falman sighed. “Honestly, Breda, I never thought you’d hate something more than dogs.”

“I don’t hate dogs!” Breda snapped. “I have a phobia of them!”

Falman tsked. “What if I tell you we have two dogs on board?”

“Two dogs?!” Breda gawked at him.

While they were arguing, Havoc glanced sideways, looking for any signs of their superiors. They went on a meeting with the other officers on board. When the coast was clear, he shared the topic in mind. “Is it me or are the Chief and Captain sleeping in for most of the trip?”

Breda and Falman halted their banter. Breda noted, “I noticed that too.”

“For the Brigadier General, it’s not surprising.” Falman commented. “But seeing the Captain fast asleep in broad daylight... Now that’s unusual.”

“Say, Fuery,” Havoc wore a sly grin. “Where’d you hide the journal again?”

Fuery chuckled nervously. “About that…”

The door to the next train wagon swooshed open. Roy and Riza entered the room, with Scar and Miles trailing behind them. 

“Gather around,” Roy commanded them. Team Mustang stood up, and their hands automatically swung in salute. “As we are now a part of Eastern Command, we are under Lieutenant General Hakuro's supervision.”

The men grunted in disdain. Hakuro was one of the reasons why their papers to Ishval spent too long to process. They bet he deliberately delays signing the documents. After all, he has always been doubtful of Mustang’s speedy climb in the military and has made many futile attempts to drag him down. No one could comprehend why he’s threatened; Grumman even entrusted Hakuro his post in the East. Perhaps Hakuro's _that_ strict with the law, nitpicking everything deviant from the usual. For that reason, Roy and Grumman added him to their plan during the coup d'état, knowing he’d take the bait and lead Bradley right into their trap.

“As I was saying,” Roy cleared his throat. “This expedition is no leisure of any sort. Quite frankly, it’s _hell_.” His eyes twitched in disgust. “Ishval bears the horrifying ghosts of the past, to soldiers and Ishvalans alike. As it all turned out, we are, indeed, the ones at fault.”

Fuery heaved a heavy sigh. He couldn’t imagine the traumas his superiors went through, but it is evident in the way their eyes carry the weight of their guilt. 

“Proceed with humility and caution,” Roy went on. “The Ishvalans would not treat us kindly. It is our responsibility, however, to ensure no riot will take place. No guns shall be drawn out as much as possible.”

Breda watched Riza swallowed in a yawn, her legs fidgeting.

“Whatever you do,” Roy’s tone turned serious. “Do not kill. That is all. At ease.”

They all let out a breath. Roy was back to his mischievous self, cracking his knuckles as he sat down. He rested his military cap on his face. “Finally, some shuteye.”

Riza excused herself to go to the restroom.

Miles, on the other hand, approached the team and extended his hand to them. “Nice to be finally working with you again.” They all shook hands. They have known Miles from the annual East and North Exhibition back in the day.

Scar, behind Miles, was hesitant to go near them until Breda gave him a pat on the back. “You’re one of us now.”

“Yeah,” Havoc chimed in. “Let bygones be bygones.”

Scar looked at their extended hands, then shook all of them. He then met their gaze, his eyes stern and sincere. “The Scar you know is long dead,” he declared.

“Refer to him as Minister." Miles said, then patted Scar’s shoulder. “You’ll do great things for our brethren.” 

When Miles went back to his seat, Scar beckoned Fuery to come closer. He pulled out the journal from his cloak, and the team’s jaws dropped, their eyeballs zooming in on it. 

Minister Scar kept his voice deep and low, “Is this written in a code?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts? Comments? I'd love to hear them all! 
> 
> I neither confirm nor deny something happened between Riza and Roy that night. I’ll leave it up to your imagination. 😉 But I've made an ongoing two-shot for you to connect the dots! The same timeline as this story, but it's set right after Hughes died. ([ whiskey on ice, amber-brown eyes ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27684853/chapters/67750258)
> 
> +  
> Canon reference about Berthold (E30):  
> Berthold, to Roy: “Now that I’ve finished it, I’ve allowed myself to grow complacent. We alchemists are hungry creatures. We must continue the hunt for knowledge as long as we live. If we forego pursuing the Truth, then we allow ourselves to die. Trust me, I’ve been dead for a long time.” *drops dead and entrusts Roy to Riza*
> 
> So, I assume he has seen the Truth. Plus, it's a given that Riza’s mother was no longer there, and he has completed the research after Roy left.
> 
> If you haven’t gotten the subtle implication, Berthold attempted to ask two things from Truth: bring back Eliza, and knowledge of flame alchemy. As we all know, human transmutation is never possible. But flame alchemy is. Berthold lost his sanity in committing the transmutation, and in exchange for flame alchemy, he lost a part of his lungs. Lungs, which hold Oxygen and Carbon dioxide, both essential to creating fire. Canonically, he coughs blood when Roy went back to the Hawkeye residence. 
> 
> Take note of that little hint about Roy knowing to control himself; it’s one of the backbones of flame alchemy. That will soon unfold in the next few chapters! 
> 
> Yes, I’m unleashing my inner Hiromu Arakawa HAHA
> 
> I haven’t revealed much yet, so it’s only a taste of what’s to come! I also followed Arakawa’s pattern on how she unfolds the past: little by little and not in chronological order. 
> 
> Amestris is based on Germany, and Rapunzel is German, so 🤷🏻♀️ I completely forgot the prince fell down and became blind in the end! (And was miraculously cured by the tears of Rapunzel after 7 years wtf). And so when I happened to stumble upon it, I’m like “OH this can be a royai thing!”
> 
> I also got the idea of White Chianti from [ 5hio’s “White Bacardi”! ](https://5hio.tumblr.com/post/624734221959905280/i-swear-this-was-not-another-of-my) I figured it would be much fitting if I use Chianti instead! 
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts! Comments, kudos, feedback, shares are very much welcome! It'll really get me motivated throughout the day! (You have no idea how it gets me pumped up wahahah) Wish me luck, our preliminary examinations are right around the corner!
> 
> Next Chapter: Scar!


	5. Log 05: Scar (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury.
> 
> Hello, I'm back! So it came to my attention that I tend to post 2-3 chapters after a month wahahah. This was supposed to be one chapter, but a lot happened and it got lengthy. So I split it into two.
> 
> I wanted to show a new side of Scar, and if you are familiar with Schnitzel from Chowder (the "RADA RADA" dude), that's how I see Scar. Enjoy!
> 
> Sidenote: I LOVE MILES!

**Log 05 - Scar (Part I)**

**Late Summer, 1916**

“It’s so damn hot!” Havoc cried out. He frantically fanned both his hands in an attempt to cool himself. The wind blew dry, and it gave him the impression they weren’t in a desert. Rather, they were in an oven.

“And here I thought you were excited for all this,” Breda quipped, fanning himself with his undershirt. If only they were allowed to take off their damn uniform. After all, it was designed for the cold weather in Central, not Hell. 

Havoc squinted his eyes in annoyance. He thought the desert would give him a glimpse of the beach. Well, there’s sand— but that’s all to it. His mouth protruded into a frown. “I clearly stand corrected.”

Black Hayate barked in agreement, to which Breda jolted and skidded away from the hound. Hayate had come back from his rounds with his tongue stuck out, panting from the heat. Havoc ruffled his fur, then turned to Breda. “Could you lend me your water bottle, Breda?”

Breda looked down at them as if they were cockroaches on his sink. “You have yours!”

“Hey, we agreed I handle Hayate.” Havoc stroked Hayate’s neck, whose tail wagged joyfully. “Lending him some water is the least you could do. Besides, your body’s already a tank!”

Breda groaned, then threw them his water flask. Havoc caught it and squirted its remains to Hayate’s mouth. The canine barked with glee, now refreshed.

Breda eyed Hayate cautiously. “W-where’s the other one?”

“White Chianti? She’s back at the tent," Havoc said. Then he stood up and dusted his slacks. “Fuery says she seemed ill, perhaps from all the heat.”

They were on patrol duty on the area facing the East Desert. There was nothing but sand and a few abandoned buildings in the vicinity. As tedious as it seemed, Havoc still found it better than guarding the headquarters or making rounds in New Ishval. The first few months of the restoration weren’t exactly a breeze, and the Ishvalans gave them grimaces whenever they passed by. Some even spat on them.

“Jacqueline, Braidykins." Their radio transmitter buzzed with their codenames. It was Fuery. Breda was about to complain about his codename when Fuery’s tone seemed serious. “We need backup here at the front.”

Havoc and Breda exchanged looks, then nodded. Without a minute to waste, they hurried their way to Ishval headquarters with Hayate trotting beside them. Upon their arrival, a large mob of angry Ishvalans gathered in front of the tent. They were at least fifty or a hundred— Breda couldn’t even estimate. What’s certain is that they couldn’t spot the main tent from afar; it drowned with the sea of people. 

“Who’s in charge here?” an Ishvalan cried out.

“We demand water!” yelled another one.

“What kind of a restoration is this?!” 

“Dear child." An old, Ishvalan woman clutched Havoc’s sleeve. “Does the military have extra water supply?”

Havoc’s eyes softened. She reminded him of his grandmother back in East City. “We will be delivering them shortly, Maam. For now, please take this.” Havoc gave her his water flask. “Refrain from staying outdoors. The sun is scorching.”

“God bless you, child.” She gave him a genuine smile. “I hope you know there’s a handful of us who still trusts Amestrians.”

Havoc looked at her amicably; citizens like her kept him going. Before he could respond, the crowd pushed them apart. Hayate broke free from Havoc’s grip and rushed towards the tent, passing through the gap between people’s legs. 

Breda caught Havoc by his shoulders and propelled him forward. “Let’s go, Jean. We wouldn’t want ‘death by squishing’ in our eulogy.”

When they had arrived at the front, Fuery and Falman were struggling to press the crowd back. Hayate was there as well, barking at the demanding civilians. Havoc’s eyes winced at the deafening chants around them.

“We’ll help with the crowd control,” Breda yelled. Just in time, several platoons of Amestrian soldiers stormed in to help them. 

“We’ll take it from here.” Miles offered. His characteristic black spectacles gleamed bright with the scorching midday sun. Team Mustang thanked him, and they backed off from the crowd. 

“How the hell did this happen?” Havoc cried out.

“They have been coming one by one since daybreak!” Fuery stammered. “Then, they suddenly multiplied!”

“We were trying to explain the new irrigation system,” Falman added, his voice choking in the uproar. “But we couldn’t understand each other with all this noise!”

“Cover me,” Fuery yelled back. “I’ll set up a sound system!”

The three of them nodded. Fuery took Hayate with him and left. As they did, a familiar face emerged from the crowd, approaching them in the front line. It was Scar.

“Minister, what are you doing here?!” Breda shrieked. 

“My brethren asked me to request for water,” Scar replied flatly. “Also, I am here to report my progress about the Church,” he pulled out a binder and the journal from his cloak, “and several findings on your superiors—”

The three men fumbled over the journal and immediately pushed it back to Scar.

Falman smacked his palm on his forehead. “How did you figure it out?!”

“Deciphering the code was part of my mission, is it not?”

“No!” The men yelled in unison. 

“Oh.”

Havoc, Breda, and Falman looked at each other and nodded. Suddenly, they dragged Scar out of the area, and the four men transferred to someplace quieter. Scar, dazed with all the events, momentarily found themselves standing face-to-face in one of the nearby reconstruction sites.

Scar scratched his head. “Have I violated a rule?”

“Yes and no.” Havoc said bluntly. He rubbed his palm against the nape of his neck. Great. They had one more problem on their hands.

Scar furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “Have your superiors violated a rule?”

“Not exactly," replied Breda. He was unsure how to explain their situation, especially since they also have no clue about it.

Scar scowled. Team Mustang had been vague about the subject matter ever since they gave him the journal. “Were you the ones who violated a rule?”

“Not quite.” Falman sighed.

“Then why are you writing observations about a private matter?” Scar snapped. “It’s common knowledge that they have intimate relations!”

“What?” Havoc exclaimed in falsetto.

“No, they’re not _officially_ together!” Breda contended, waving both his hands. Their voices echoed throughout the reconstruction site, and Falman shushed them.

Scar blinked several times. “B-but—”

“They’re always seen together?” Havoc supplied. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

“Anti-fraternization rules forbid it.” Falman lamented and clapped on Scar’s back. “Love is more complicated than being together.”

“But it does make me wonder.” Breda placed a fist on his hip. “What makes you think they’re together, Minister?”

The rest of the men affixed their gaze on the lost and clueless Ishvalan. They doubt he would affirm their relationship by merely decoding their surveillance logs. Scar hadn’t spent a long time with their superiors, and so his opinion intrigued them. 

“They seemed close,” noted Scar. “Every encounter I have with them was a life-and-death situation.” 

The men looked at each other, then back at Scar. Suddenly, they all huddled near Scar, who felt uncomfortable with their proximity. 

“Tell us more!”

Scar pushed them back lightly, then dusted his cloak. “If you insist.” 

Scar started describing his first encounter with the pair— the time he was about to kill Mustang. The Flame Alchemist proudly charged himself to battle, despite being soaking wet. Just as Scar was about to exterminate him, Hawkeye kicked Mustang’s feet, making him dodge Scar’s attack. 

“Oh, I remember that one!” Falman exclaimed. 

“Yeah,” Breda chuckled. “Hawkeye called him useless that day.”

“If I had a dollar every time she calls him useless,” Havoc rubbed his palms together, “I would be richer than the Armstrongs!”

Falman tsked and patted Havoc’s shoulder. “You’re gonna need more than that.”

Havoc opened his mouth to retort, but all that came out were stutters. Breda and Falman howled in rowdy laughter. Scar couldn’t help but draw a small smile. They seem to be genuine gentlemen, and their companionship reminded him of the chimeras, Yoki, Dr. Marcoh, and the Xingese little girl with her peculiar pet.

When their laughter subsided, Scar proceeded with his story. When he met the pair again, they were battling against the Immortal Legion. They seem to have a shared history of the place, and Mustang teased Hawkeye about crying honest tears. Hawkeye pointed out she thought he hated liquids since it makes him useless. Scar scolded them and told them to save their banters for later.

“How can you be such a killjoy!” snapped Breda.

Scar shrugged. “They were arguing while the enemy was right in front of us.”

Breda nodded. “Point taken.”

“We can't just ignore how the Captain called him “useless” again!” Havoc exclaimed. “Alright, pay up!”

Falman completely ignored him. “‘Idiot’ seems to be the only name they call each other than their rank. Do you think it is a form of endearment?”

After they discussed their theories, Scar gushed about more of his observations. When Mustang attempted to kill Envy, Hawkeye aimed a gun on his back. Scar assumed it was some sort of agreement between them; Hawkeye was allowed to take his life if he strayed away from the ‘right path.’ Mustang asked the question back at her, demanding to know what she would do after killing him. Hawkeye told him she’d bury the secrets of Flame Alchemy along with her body. There wasn’t sufficient evidence on what they meant, but Scar assumed Hawkeye was vital for Mustang’s alchemic capabilities. Mustang eventually gave up on revenge and took out his anger on an empty pathway. Then, he admitted he couldn’t afford to lose her.

“Holy—” 

“Shh!” Breda shushed Havoc with a finger on his mouth.

“That was beautiful.” Falman sniffled. “Please proceed!”

Scar nodded, his face flushed. Falman wasn’t certain if it was because of the heat or because he was annoyed with their childishness. Or, it was because of the events he had in mind.

Scar recalled that as they battled the Fuhrer candidates, the gold-toothed doctor held Riza hostage. They slit her throat, tempting Roy to commit human transmutation.

“No—“

“Shh!” Havoc covered Breda’s mouth with his hand. It was his means of payback. Breda shoved it away and stuck his tongue out on him like a child.

Falman shook his head at the sight of them, then focused his attention on Scar. Although Scar was speaking in the past tense, he still felt all the emotions. Who knew he was a good storyteller? Perhaps the minister profession suited him. 

Scar went on and narrated that when the chimeras saved them, Roy rushed to Riza’s aid. Mei Chang prompted to heal Riza, and Roy abruptly hugged his lieutenant.

“Good lord—” 

“Shh—” Havoc and Breda attempted to shush Falman, who plunged both their heads down. With his height, he could quickly gain control over the two. Truly the bishop of the gang. 

Havoc and Breda cast Falman’s arms aside, and both of them looked at him disdainfully. “What was that for?”

Falman ignored their remark and turned to Scar. “I trust you this all happened.”

“I can assure you it did,” Scar proclaimed, to which all the three men perked their ears up.

Scar continued and emphasized that Mustang and Hawkeye showed a different level of intimacy, one that is beyond military duties. Even King Bradley showed suspicions of their relationship. When he misfortunately arrived at the scene, he called Riza as ‘Mustang’s pet.’

“I’ve always wondered why Bradley made her his secretary!” commented Havoc.

“Yeah, and he split the rest of us across Amestris,” added Breda. 

Falman’s eyes sparkled. “Even enemies see our teamwork as a threat!”

“Are there more?” queried Havoc.

“That’s all I have for now,” Scar reckoned, back to his timid and stern self. 

Their discussion was cut short by the amplified yelling of the crowd nearby. Then, their radio transmitters beeped, followed by Hawkeye’s voice in static. “Why the hell have you left your posts?” 

The men stiffened, even Scar. 

“We better get a move on,” Breda motioned them outside the site, to which the men nodded.

As they scrambled their way back to the tent, a screech echoed throughout the area. It must have been Fuery’s sound system. Upon their arrival at the scene, Hawkeye and Mustang were outside the tent, talking to Miles. They noticed the men approach, and Hawkeye glared at them.

“Captain, we were—“

“I don’t want to hear any of your excuses,” Hawkeye spat back. Chills immediately ran down their spines— they looked like dogs tucking their tails behind them.

Roy Mustang tapped his finger on the microphone, and the crowd went silent for a while. Roy was about to speak when murmurs buzzed from the audience before him.

“Is that the Flame Alchemist?” 

“It couldn’t be.”

“It is!”

“Isn’t that the Hawk’s Eye beside him?”

“I thought Amestris would restore Ishval!”

“They were the very ones who destroyed it!”

“Some ‘Hero of Ishval.’”

Roy’s mouth twitched at the last comment, and Riza observed him intently.

The crowd continued to babble until one Ishvalan stood up. “It’s happening all over again!”

“They’re gaining control over us!”

“If they truly want us to be free, they wouldn’t have supervised us like this!”

“Amestris will exploit us like one of their pawns!”

“We’ve had enough!”

“Justice!”

The Ishvalans yelled and raised their fists in the air. A civilian suddenly threw a rock towards the military, and the rest of them followed. It rained sand and stone, and Miles commanded the soldiers to shield the superiors with their ballistic shields. Despite their efforts, some rocks were able to move past the barriers. The clanking of stone to metal mimicked the pitter-patter of rainwater. Within seconds, the Ishvalan Headquarters became the center of torrential chaos, and dust suspended its air until they could barely see one another. 

“Probably the only rain where we’re all useless,” Havoc called out as he was taking cover. 

“This isn’t a good time for a joke, Havoc!” Breda barked back. 

With hands clasped on his head, Falman checked his comrades for any sign of injuries. His eyes bulged at the familiar crimson liquid oozing out from Hawkeye’s forehead. “Captain, you’re bleeding!” 

Hawkeye placed a handkerchief on the scrape, to which its cloth stained red. “It’s nothing.” She then turned to Roy, “Any orders, Sir?”

Roy ignored her question and tugged his gloves down. He then marched towards the crowd and declared, “Enough!” 

Mustang clapped his hands and planted them on the ground. Much to his surprise, the floor hadn’t risen. Instead, a wall of fire combusted in front of them, dividing them from the frightened Ishvalans. Screams of terror followed, and the crowd dispersed away from the flames. 

In a flash, Scar cracked his muscles and raised the land beneath them, extinguishing the firewall. The overwhelmed citizens looked at them with horror drawn across their faces. Pain struck Roy’s chest as the ghosts of the past danced with reality. 

Scar grabbed the microphone from Mustang, breaking his trance.

“Have you all learned nothing?” Scar's voice echoed throughout the area, and the crowd fell silent. “Hatred bears nothing but more hatred. That’s what starts every single war in history.”

Fuery came out of the tent. His equipment may have transmitted quality sound, but it was Scar’s words that reverberated with clarity. It seemed as if he was speaking from experience.

“Grudges will do nothing. We cannot reverse and change the past, but what we can do is set our eyes forward,” Scar proceeded. “Ishvalans or Amestrians— what difference do they make? We think we’re too mighty to point out another's faults, but in the end, we’re all just human. We all share the same wounds and trauma.”

“Agreed.” Miles came forth and faced the crowd. He took off his black spectacles and revealed his red eyes. The Ishvalans gasped in shock— a man of their blood was part of the Amestrian military. Then Miles shared his sentiments, “Just like you, these people have genuine intentions for Ishval, regardless of their race. I can attest to that.”

The crowd once again murmured.

“You’re both one of them!”

“Traitors!”

“We don’t know who to trust anymore!”

“Give us the truth!”

“The Truth?” Hawkeye snapped. She seized the microphone from Miles. “If you all think we don’t deserve to live another day, well, you’re right.”

Everything went dead silent once more.

“Go ahead,” Hawkeye taunted. “Take the final shot, by all means.”

“Captain!” Roy scolded her for her rash words and attempted to pull her back. But Riza glared down at him and kept her feet firmly on the ground.

No one from the crowd dared move an inch. 

“You may wish to end our lives,” Riza continued. “But, we all know a life or two could never compensate for the lives of thousands that the past regime has slaughtered.”

Understanding Riza’s narrative, Roy could only swallow the sour lump from the back of his throat. Truth sure stings a person in many ways than one. 

“To tell you honestly,” Riza proceeded. “We’ve been requesting for a proper trial for years— and this is what the new Führer decreed.”

“Restorative Justice,” Roy supplied. His hands tightened their grip on the microphone Fuery just gave him. “We take full responsibility for the harms we’ve caused to Ishval and your people. It’s what we’re doing this entire time.”

Riza watched him approach the crowd. In a matter of seconds, Roy took control over the situation. “We’ve made amends, agreed on reconstruction, and now both parties are cooperating to make decisions on the repair. Have I understood ‘restorative justice’ correctly, Lieutenant Falman?”

“Ah— yes, Sir!”

“Good.” Roy turned to the crowd. “As I was saying, we’ve found a new water reservoir, and it has been in the process of distilling since last week. Current supplies will last until Friday. When will the transfer be finished, Lieutenant Breda?”

“Around noontime tomorrow, Sir.”

“And the new irrigation system, Lieutenant Havoc?”

“It’s already installed, Sir.”

“Are all the technicians, engineers, and state alchemists aware of these, Sergeant Fuery?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent.” Roy eyed the crowd. “Should there be any other concerns or suggestions, feel free to approach. If none, I suggest you return to your homes. These gentlemen here would deliver gallons of water supply in the meantime.”

As commanded, Team Mustang attended to a few of the citizen’s concerns, while the rest of the crowd slowly dispersed.

Roy lifted the flaps to the entrance of the tent and turned to Riza. “After you.” 

“Is this an order?”

“Yes, and you’re injured.” 

Riza rendered no further questions, and they proceeded inside. Black Hayate and White Chianti wagged their tails. But after sensing the atmosphere, they lay idle, each underneath their owner’s desks. 

Roy frantically searched for a first aid kit. Riza rolled her eyes and pulled the kit out from one of her drawers. When Roy snatched it from her, Riza beckoned that the wound was not a big deal. Roy, ever so stubborn, insisted he would at least sterilize it and put a bandage on it. He pulled a chair beside Riza’s desk and gestured to her to sit down. Riza sighed and gave in to his request.

As Roy tended to her wound, Riza cringed at the sting of alcohol on her fresh wound. He wasn’t always the best substitute for a medic, but his minty, campfire scent always brought her a sense of comfort. Despite being clumsy, Roy was someone who takes careful control over his actions, and she noted it as a vital factor in Flame Alchemy. His hands were always light and gentle on her skin. This time, however, his fingers felt cold to the touch— they appear to be trembling. 

“Aren’t you going to scold me, Captain?” Roy broke the silence.

“Scold you?” Riza looked up at him.

“For frightening the civilians,” Roy muttered under his breath. He was now securing the bandage on Riza’s forehead. 

“I was about to get to that matter.” Riza brushed her bangs with her fingers, attempting to cover the bandage. “But you seem frightened yourself.”

Roy scoffed, “You’re one to talk.”

Before Riza can retort, Scar entered the room. His jaw stiffened as he realized Mustang and Hawkeye were alone and are in close proximity. “Pardon the intrusion. Am I disturbing anything?”

Roy opened his mouth to speak, but Riza cut his breath short. “Not at all, Minister.”

Roy frowned, then proceeded with accommodating Scar. “To what pleasure do we owe you?”

“I came to deliver my progress report on the Church.” Scar pulls out a document from within his cloak. “So far, the citizens are appreciative of our efforts. Although some are skeptical, most Ishvalans are willing to give Amestrians a chance.”

“They sure have a funny way of showing it,” grunted Roy. He stepped back from Riza and swerved to his desk. Riza, on the other hand, positioned herself in front of her desk and started filing papers. The pair was back on business.

Scar marched towards Mustang and propped the document on his table. Without even sparing a glance on it, Roy extended a hand to Scar. “You have our sincerest gratitude for stopping the flames from spreading.” 

Scar examined his hand, and then he shook it. “Anything for Ishval.”

A small smile spread across Riza’s lips. Who knew that Scar, the mass murderer Roy never caught, was now directly under his command? 

“Thank you, Minister.” Riza reached out to Scar and handed him a new binder. “We shall be looking forward to more updates on your progress.”

Scar nodded and placed his fist on his chest. “For Ishval.” 

Roy and Riza bowed their heads in return. “For Ishval.” 

At once, Scar bid farewell and went out of the tent. Before he took another step, he halted as he overheard Roy and Riza’s conversation. 

“Before you leave, Captain, do you mind doing me a favor?” Roy appealed.

“It depends on the favor, Sir,” came Riza’s polite reply.

A brief, crisp crumpling of paper filled the room. “Kindly deliver this envelope to Lieutenant-General Hakuro. I believe he’s about to board a train for a meeting in Central.”

Hawkeye eyed the brown manila envelope. “May I ask for what purpose, Sir?”

“Fraternization.” 

Scar quickly hid from the entryway. He knows this should not concern him, but he knew it would kill him inside if anything happens to his superiors.

Hawkeye knitted her brows together at Mustang’s statement. Upon noticing this, Roy clarified, “It seems Hayate got Chianti pregnant.”

The two dogs barked gleefully, unaware of the military laws that forbid procreation.

Scar slacked his back in relief. He was thankful it was a false alarm, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He thought he would finally figure them out. 

Realizing it was none of his business, Scar took his leave. Unbeknownst to him, what remained within his cloak was his progress report. 

Scar has yet to discover he mistakenly handed the journal to Roy and Riza. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? I do hope my characterization for Scar is on-point! As usual, kudos, comments and bookmarks are appreciated! Any kind of feedback will get me pumped up!
> 
> But, wait, there's more! 
> 
> Next chapter: Scar - Part II (because we love him!)


	6. Log 06: Scar (Part II)

**Log 06: Scar (Part II)**

“Mustang’s pet is pregnant?!” Lieutenant-General Hakuro exclaimed.

Rebecca dropped the kettle, which rattled noisily across the room. Alex Armstrong spurted out his tea, and Olivier found herself arching an eyebrow at the peculiar news. There could only be one person to which the former Führer Bradley calls with this nickname— and it would be Riza Hawkeye. 

The rest of the regional representatives buzzed in whispers— everyone was concerned. Save for Hakuro, who seemed more intrigued than distressed.

Grumman peered through the documents Hakuro was holding. Then he belched out a chuckle. “Oh no, I don’t suppose I would be expecting any grandchildren.”

Olivier snatched the report from both of them. “Hmm, figures. It’s Mustang’s _Shiba Inu_.”

Rebecca bit her tongue, restraining herself from reacting out loud. They were in a _national_ meeting— it would be too inappropriate if she were to shriek out of the blue. She never knew Mustang owned a pet dog, but she was so damn glad he did. If he didn’t, it would have cost her a bullet or two. 

“Military puppies?” Armstrong cooed at the thought. “That would be lovely!”

Olivier rolled her eyes. She wondered how this sensitive buffoon made it as Central’s representative. Before she could comment, Grumman shared his sentiments, “I’ll have Mrs. Bradley and Selim take care of the dogs for a while.”

“Fantastic!” Armstrong beamed, and Olivier irritably fanned away the sparkles floating off of him. 

“Thank you for all your regional reports,” Grumman went on. “As for more serious matters, I have an important announcement.”

The chatter died down, and the political leaders gave him their undivided attention. 

“As a country barricaded by the walls of the past regime, it is a must to re-establish our unions with other nations.” Grumman looked at the map of Amestris wistfully before proceeding. “Hence, it is expected that I shall be taking frequent trips to neighboring countries. In case a crisis comes, I need to appoint an acting-Führer. May I ask for your consent that each one of you will be in surveillance until I have made my choice?” 

The leaders nodded in agreement. Führer Grumman is always known for his strategic planning, and so they give him their full support without objections.

“Permission granted, Führer," voiced Olivier.

“Very well then.” Grumman cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. The meeting is adjourned.”

A sly smile drew across Hakuro’s mouth. It was his chance to redeem himself after all the accusations imposed on him during the crash of Bradley’s term. All he did was follow the law; how on Earth would he know that the government had atrocious plans? Hakuro felt his eye twitch at the thought— it was all Mustang's fault. And so, Hakuro figured he might dig dirt from all the rubble the Flame Alchemist caused. Call it equivalent exchange, or so they say.

“Lieutenant-General Hakuro?” 

“Yes, Sir?”

“Keep an eye out on the Ishval restoration team.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Especially the war veterans. They might not take the situation lightly.”

“That is noted, Sir.”

Hakuro knew the Führer mainly meant Mustang and Hawkeye. He snickered to himself. Perhaps, he might take an even closer watch on them than what was asked. 

* * *

As hot as its days were, the Ishvalan nights were just as cold. Scar was walking further East from Ishval, where there was nothing but miles and miles of sand. The land crumbled into the shape of his feet, and it's cool touch tingled his skin. Only the moon and the stars lighted his way, and he couldn’t tell if it were sand or snow. He marveled at the sight. These long walks into the isolated desert were therapeutic to him, especially for the nights he couldn’t sleep. Scar heaved out a heavy sigh; the recent events truly brought back unpleasant memories. 

Then Scar squinted, looking past the dunes. Finally, he finally saw his destination: the Ruins of Xerxes. It had become his getaway. The Ishvalans who once lived there were welcomed to the New Ishval; and now it was a place without anyone. In other words, the ruins were now a place without judgments— it allowed him to be a free man. In fact, the very ruins reminded him of starting with a clean slate. 

Excitement ran through his veins as he walked closer. He was finally able to read books without any distraction. No one knew, but he enjoys reading books and decoding their words. It brought him relief— a brief escape from reality. He hadn’t gotten much time to gather books, and so he was left with whatever is within his cloak, which he still believes is the journal. 

Scar couldn’t wait to log his new observations on the journal. His visit to their tent was one of the most casual encounters he has with Mustang and Hawkeye. It was embarrassing to think that he had interrupted their moment, especially when it seemed they didn't always have the luxury of time. Aside from that, Scar thought of Mustang as a fortunate fellow to have good men beside him. Recalling their encounters, Scar wished someone had also saved him from the path of revenge. But then again, if it weren’t for his mistakes, he wouldn’t have learned his lesson. Scar looked up to the stars and made a silent prayer, _God, if you are there, please bless these two souls._

When his feet touched cold cement, Scar sat cross-legged onto one corner of the ruins. Moonlight and several torches cast away the shadows of the night. Scar pulled out the journal and sighed in relief. The torchlight wavered and illuminated the book before him— and Scar realized he was holding his progress report. Panic ran through his veins, and then he desperately fumbled his hands on his cloak. When he found no sign of the journal, his heart plummeted down his stomach. How could he be so reckless? His eyes wandered off into the blazing fire, and he suddenly had another epiphany. How come the torches were lit? 

Suddenly a sharp snap echoed across the ruins.

“Who goes there?” 

Scar almost choked his own tongue— the voice belonged to Roy Mustang. Before he could move a muscle, Roy caught him by surprise. “Scar?”

“B-Brigadier!” came out Scar’s automatic reply. Startled, he stood up and swung his hand into a salute. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” Roy eyed him from head to toe. He noticed Scar was holding a binder. Scar never wore any satchel, so Roy figured he must have carried it from within his cloak. It always amazes him how Scar keeps books in his clothes without ever letting them fall off. 

Scar, on the other hand, also maintained a watchful eye on the man before him. Mustang looked restless, and it appears he also had trouble sleeping. A gentle, orange flame was hovering over his right palm, and on his left was the coded Roy and Riza journal. Scar’s eyes widened at recognition, and before he could comment, Roy cleared his throat. “It would be a waste if one of us leaves now. Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” came Scar’s short response. After all, he believes he doesn’t have any other choice.

Roy sat cross-legged across him, resting the journal on his lap. There was nothing but a piece of driftwood between them. Silence erupted, and a coyote howled in the night. Scar fiddled with his fingers, wondering how he could get the journal back. Roy noticed him fidgeting, and so he extinguished the hovering flames and snapped his fingers to set the driftwood on fire. 

“So.” Roy awkwardly rubbed his gloves together. “You’re interested in books?”

“Yes.” Scar nodded slowly.

“But I suppose you didn’t come all the way here to read?”

Scar hesitated but then decided to share a little about himself. “I come here whenever I have trouble sleeping.”

“I see.” Roy’s eyes darted on the burning driftwood. “You and I both.”

Scar also affixed his gaze on the flames. “Those who received pain can still sleep, but those who give pain can’t.”

Roy felt his chest burn at how the Truth pierced right through him. “I guess that’s one more thing we have in common.”

As much as Roy wanted to stay mad at Scar for killing the Rockbell Doctors and many alchemists, he knew he had no right to do so. After all, Scar’s actions were the direct result of Roy’s military indulgence. He knew he was the real monster between them. Roy removed his gloves and looked at his calloused palms. How can he bear a country whose blood is stained on his hands? Disgusted with himself, Roy wrinkled his nose. “In this world run by equivalent exchange, shall there be room for atonement, even for the gravest of sins?”

Scar shifted his position, giving him his full attention. Roy watched his hands tremble with guilt and anger. “Even though it wasn’t the result we had in mind, it still doesn’t justify all the lives I took. In the end, it was I who chose to follow the orders.”

Roy looked up at Scar. “I sincerely apologize for causing you and your fellow men unbearable pain.”

“I don’t believe I deserve your apology,” Scar contended. “I’ve taken many lives, and most of them were innocent.” Scar watched the flames dance and crackle amid the shadows. For such a long time, he held a grudge against Amestrians and believed people repeatedly make the same mistakes. Ironically enough, Amestrians were the ones who begged him to differ. Two boys who lost their bodies from committing human transmutation ended up getting it back. A man who sowed hatred burned it before its flames devour him like wildfire. And the man was now in front of him, apologizing. Scar tossed sand into the burning driftwood. “But people change.”

Roy inched closer, intrigued by Scar's statement.

Scar pondered, “As you said, the world revolves around equivalent exchange. But equivalent exchange doesn’t mean fighting fire with fire— it means extinguishing it.” The flames crackled as Scar sprinkled more sand unto it. “Equivalent exchange means achieving balance, not heightening discord.”

Scar looked at his arms, both etched with tattoos. He then heard the echoes of his brother’s voice:

> _“If many negative emotions gather, they will end up influencing the world. But it’s also possible to gather positive emotions and lead the world in that direction. That’s why I study alchemy.”_

“Deconstruction, Reconstruction…” Scar chanted the words as if they were the names of his arms. He cracked his muscles and clenched his fists with determination. Then he turned to Roy. “What you are doing for the New Ishval is the true equivalent exchange.”

Roy was taken aback by Scar’s words. He never expected he’d get reassurance from someone who directly fell victim to his crimes. 

“I must say,” Roy finally spoke after a while, “You have outstanding words, Minister. I see why they call you that.” 

Scar straightened his back, and a sense of pride surged from within him. “You can call me by any name.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, do you have a real name?” Roy asked, propping his chin on his hand. It occurred to Roy he only referred to him as Scar since it is the name that witnesses call him.

Scar shook his head, his gaze never leaving the flames. Yoki and Olivier Armstrong once asked the same question, and his reply never changed. “I’ve been reborn countless times, and I revoked my name on all those occasions. I believe I am unworthy of such a gift from God.”

Roy nodded in understanding. He realized that despite their different upbringings, they were more alike than distinct. He hadn’t been certain if there truly is a God, but he knows how it feels to be unworthy to speak of a name. His eyes darted to the corner of the ruins. A pair of ghosts danced in the shadows, and heavy breaths of the past echoed back at him.

> _“I-I’m sorry,” Roy whispered tenderly against Riza’s ear. “This is the best I could do.”_
> 
> _“This is more than enough,” Riza said in between breaths, her voice struggling to hide her trembling. Blood seeped down her spine and to the small of her back. Roy had burnt parts of the array, as per her request. “Thank you, Major.”_
> 
> _The ruins stayed still, and not even the wind blew. Nothing but strips of smoke spiraled around the air. Roy couldn’t tell whether that caused him to breathe uneasily, or it was from carrying the guilt of hurting the one he cared about most. His hands moved on their own— and pulled Riza closer to him._
> 
> _That night felt like their last. Come daylight, they cast aside their past and buried it deep in their bones. They were different people, deliberately branding themselves into strangers who wouldn’t even dare speak of each other’s names._
> 
> _It was as if they were reborn._

“Sir?” Scar woke him up from his trance. “There has been some mistake. I may have given you one of my books instead of the progress report.” 

“Hm?” Roy gruffed mindlessly, still dazed from memory. Upon coming back into his senses, he shook his head and patted his face lightly. “Oh. You may surrender it to me. I won’t tell the Captain.”

Scar gave him the binder and felt as if a thorn was plucked out of his chest. “That is much appreciated, Brigadier.”

For a moment, both of them stayed idle, until Scar asked, “May I have the book now, Sir?”

“Ah, you mean this one?” Roy waved the book, and Scar followed its movements like a dog eyeing a bone.

Scar nodded, to which Roy furrowed his brows. “But Fuery told me this was Catalina’s?”

“Pardon?”

“When I asked Fuery why the book was on my desk, he told me the Führer sent it, in his words, ‘to capture the hearts of the citizens.’” Roy gestured at the last phrase. 

“Ah. The Warrant Officer entrusted it to me.” Scar said. It seemed Fuery had made a cover story; he might as well ride along. After all, he wasn’t considerably lying. “I was about to return it to him, but it seems he has meant to give it to you.”

“I see.” Roy eyed the book on his hand and arched an eyebrow. “I’ve intended to read it and try it out here in the ruins. But I find it ironic to display fireworks to people who are traumatized by fire and gunpowder.”

Scar rubbed his forehead, and beads of sweat rolled down his face. “Indeed.”

“On second thought,” Roy suddenly stood up and cocked his hips, “It’s brilliant!” He snapped his fingers in excitement, and a flame burst right from it. It hit the sand, and Scar immediately transmuted the ground to enclose the fire. Roy winced at the sudden blaze— he has got to work on controlling his flames again. Although he took off his gloves, his calloused fingers might have become a source of friction. Being able to do alchemy without a transmutation circle gave him more abilities but also more responsibilities. Roy sighed. He wouldn’t want to accidentally set the air on fire again like he did earlier that day.

“Might I ask how you find it brilliant, Sir?” queried Scar. 

“Fireworks can be a brief but effective reminder that flames can do more than just damage.”

Scar raised both eyebrows, then bobbed his head in consideration. 

“You said it yourself,” Roy noted. “There’s two sides of a coin.”

Scar blinked. “I’m afraid I never said that—”

“But that was what you meant,” Roy pointed out. “And I thank you for that.”

“I-I’m glad I managed to help.” Scar nervously forced a small smile. Does this mean the gang would no longer scold him for losing the journal?

Roy scoffed, oblivious to the real story behind the Chemistry of Fireworks. Führer Grumman may be eccentric in his ideas, but his strategies always made sense. Constant exposure could help minimize fear, after all. Roy is willing to do all it takes to clear any obstructions in his relations with the Ishvalans. He’s determined to do anything to climb to the top and be Führer.

As his first small step, he decided that a fireworks display would be fitting in celebration of their cooperation. 

Roy jammed his hands into his pockets. Learning how to create fireworks from scratch might take him weeks, or even months, to master. It’s time-consuming if taken as leisure, but Roy figured it could also serve as training to control his flames without a transmutation circle. It would eventually hit two birds with one stone.

Speaking of birds, he wondered how Hawkeye would react to the fireworks. Roy pondered for a while and finally made his decision. He might as well keep it as a surprise from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where things start to stir! I hope you appreciate how I connected all the tiny details since Chapter 1! I've laid a lot of breadcrumbs on what's to come (and some for Meridian, the big fic I mentioned from Chapter 1 he he he). 
> 
> Any comments? Reactions? I'd love to hear every thought you have! <3 I'm excited on working on the next chapter, and the chapter after that (and after that) HAHA there are so many things I love to unfold about their relationship and characterizations. Not only on Royai, but also on other characters as well.
> 
> Hmm, would a man like Mustang figure out the code? 
> 
> Next chapter: Riza Hawkeye Observation Journal! (by none other than Roy Mustang) (this still doesn't answer the question!)


	7. Log 07: Roy Mustang

**Log 07: Roy Mustang**

**Riza Hawkeye Observation Journal**

**Early Autumn, 1917**

It has been more than a year since the start of restoration. Most of the essential facilities have been re-established. Although they still have a lot of work to do, New Ishval was ready to take its first big step: being open to the public. 

“Lieutenant-General Hakuro has arrived,” Fuery’s voice buzzed from the transmitter. “Captain Hawkeye is accommodating him.”

Roy rubbed his hands together. “Roger that.”

The September breeze in the desert was warm but a little bit more humid than usual. The day was special, and not only for Ishval. Coincidentally, it was September 1st— the Captain’s 30th birthday. 

Roy mindlessly flipped the pages of the Chemistry of Fireworks journal. He had mastered shooting out fireworks from scratch, but he couldn’t help but wonder. Was it him, or was the journal all about him and Riza? Roy pondered; perhaps he should confront his team about it. He opened his mouth, then cocked his hips. Or maybe he shouldn’t ask them, as it would only confirm his relationship with the Captain. Whatever that was.

Three knocks rocked his door. 

“Come in,” Roy chirped. 

“Chief,” Havoc came forth. “I got all the gunpowder for the fireworks display.”

“Excellent.” Roy slammed the journal shut. “Shall we make preparations then?”

As they went outside the tent, nostalgia hit him. Usually, when it was the Captain’s birthday, he and the team set little surprises for her— like finishing paperwork early. Other times, they would be taking Hayate for a walk the entire week, singing Happy Birthday at the most spontaneous moments, or leaving a bowl of crème brûlée on her desk at work.

This time, Roy wanted it to be different, more memorable, perhaps. After all, being 30 is a milestone. Aside from that, he wanted the celebration to remind her of all the joyful years she’s had. Roy smiled wistfully; those were the years buried by fire and gunpowder. 

* * *

**Summer 1894**

**Roy - 9 years old**

**Riza - 7 years old**

_The wind blew, and Roy watched the rustling trees from within the Hawkeye mansion. He positioned his chin on his clasped hands, his feet swinging back and forth beneath the study table. His master had him decipher basic alchemy books again— and Roy’s bored to death. Although he’s capable of the basics, Master Hawkeye never teaches him the next lesson until he perfects it. Roy let out an exasperated sigh, his bangs flinging upwards. He’s been in the mansion for months, and he’s still learning the basics._

_Suddenly, he sensed someone was watching him. He always gets that feeling whenever he’s alone in his study, and he knows just who it is. He spun around and saw a flash of blonde, followed by the creaking of the wooden floor. Roy sprung up and went out to the hallway, determined to catch the little lurker once and for all._

_“Hey!” Roy called out, and his voice echoed throughout the mansion. “Riza, was it?”_

_The little blonde girl stopped on her heels and slowly spun around. Her face was red as a peach, perhaps embarrassed she got caught. Roy gave her a rueful pout. “It’s rude to spy on people, you know.”_

_Riza bit her lip and bowed down. “I’m sorry, Mister Mustang!” Then she quickly turned to the corner and dashed to the stairs._

_“W-wait!” Roy followed her to the staircase, yet she had already gone up. Drats. His master forbids him to proceed to the second floor._

_He scratched his head, perplexed at such a peculiar girl._ _She was avoiding him ever since he came to the household. Whenever he’d try to approach her, she would shy away. His ‘sisters’ at home were usually the first ones to approach him— not the other way around. It drove him nuts. He felt like he didn't know how to start a conversation._

_What is up with her?_

**Spring 1895**

**Roy - 10 years old**

**Riza - 8 years old**

_“Roy?” Berthold summoned Roy to his study._

_“Yes, Sir?” Roy showed up stiffly like a tin soldier, eager to learn more alchemy._

_“Kindly check on my daughter." Berthold looked up from his research notes, a rare moment. His eyes were on the setting sun peering from the windowpane. “It’s getting late.”_

_Roy stiffened. “Where might she be?”_

_“I wouldn’t be asking you if I’d known,” Berthold replied gruffly._

_Roy gulped. “Yes, Sir, will do, Sir!”_

_Roy searched all over the Hawkeye residence, but the little blonde girl was nowhere to be found. If he would flip the mansion upside down, he swore only dust would fall out. And so, he pranced his way outside the mansion._

_He assumed Riza had gone out, as she always does around this time of the day. And when she comes back, she either has groceries or a slingshot and a dead bird on her hands. Roy bit the insides of his cheeks— he hoped the animals didn’t bring her their vengeance._

_After venturing into the forest without any sign of Riza, Roy had reached West City. His eyes widened— the place was packed with people. They were strolling shoulder-to-shoulder along the pavements, and merchants were drawing them into their stalls. They laid out carpets with glimmering jewelry— the West Amestrian specialty. Children around his age were carrying different-colored lanterns, and the town square was beaming bright with dozens just like it. It seemed there was a festival. As vibrant as it may seem, the skies didn’t reciprocate. It looked like it was about to rain. How can he find Riza now?_

_Two boys zoomed past Roy. “Hurry, there’s a fight!”_

_“Where?” asked another, his lantern jingling as he spoke._

_“At the square!” the elder boy piped in._

_“Who is it this time?”_

_“I’m placing my bets on the little blonde!”_

_Roy’s jaw dropped. It must be Riza. Taking his chances, he trailed behind the boys. When they got to the town square, a crowd of children gathered in a circle. Roy squeezed himself into the crowd to get a glimpse of the situation— and there stood the little blonde girl and a group of youths before her._

_“My father is not mad!” Riza insisted._

_“Yes, he is!” a girl with freckles balled her fists._

_“Just like all other alchemists!” shrieked another one._

_“That’s why you stopped going to school,” one boy pointed out. “You’re probably mad just like him!”_

_“Am not!”_

_“Are too!”_

_“Leave her alone,” Roy stepped forth. Before he could get any closer to the bullies, Riza blocked him with her hand, “Mister Mustang, I can protect myself.”_

_“What’s this?” The taller boy scoffed._

_The chubby one snickered. “Eli’s got_ a boyfriend.”

_“So Eli’s a girl after all,” another girl teased. “Or is she?”_

_“It’s Riza,” Roy corrected him. “And I’m not—”_

_“Eli probably dropped out of school,” the freckled girl eyed Roy from head to toe, “for this Xingese freak.”_

_“He’s not a freak!” Riza suddenly pounced onto the freckled girl and yanked her hair, declaring war. In an instant, two boys charged right towards Roy. Roy couldn’t move— he had to think of something quick. Just when Roy was about to do alchemy, the state police blew their whistles, halting the children’s fight. Alarmed, the gang left Roy and Riza alone and sprawled across the square. The police officers chuckled their way out of the area, not taking any of the children’s brawling seriously._

_“That’s right, you better run!” Riza taunted. “The next time you pick on me, I’ll beat the crap out of you again!”_

_Roy pulled her by her arm. “Where have you been?”_

_Thunder rolled from the heavens, startling everyone in the square. Roy sighed and dragged Riza forwards. “Let’s get you home.”_

_Riza broke free from his grasp. “No.”_

_“And why not?” fumed Roy. He just couldn't figure her out._

_Droplets fell from the skies, followed by another startling thunder. It suddenly poured, drenching the city as if it were a wilted garden._

_Roy and Riza sought shelter from one of the stalls in the streets. A merchant was kind enough to let them sit on the carpet, next to gems and trinkets. With their clothes wet from the rain, they looked like lost kittens._

_“I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” Riza muttered, fiddling with her cardigan sleeve. “I know my Father sent you to go after me.”_

_“It’s no big deal.” Roy waved his hand dismissively. “I guess I wanted to know you’re safe.”_

_Riza looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you.”_

_Roy blinked. That was the first time she made a friendly gesture at him. He scratched the back of his head. “I should be the one thanking you. You stood up for me.”_

_"It's nothing," Riza replied bluntly. She then tugged at her earrings, making sure they were fastened. “I don’t think anyone is any different from everyone else.”_

_Roy inched forwards. “You don’t think I’m different?”_

_“I don’t.”_

_“Really?”_

_“My books show all sorts of people.” Riza squeezed her hair dry. “So, I don’t see what makes you any different from the rest.”_

_Silence elapsed between them, and the rain drummed on the stall’s makeshift roof. Her comments meant a lot to Roy. People always found him different because of his descent, even though he is born Amestrian. After a few moments, Roy broke the ice between them. “The Madame says we’re from another country.”_

_“Really?” Riza shifted her position, intrigued._

_“Yes, from a place called Xing." Roy ruffled his hair dry. “If you’re wondering, the Madame is my foster mother. Well, she’s my aunt.”_

_“She’s the one taking care of you?” asked Riza._

_“Yeah.” Roy tugged the sleeves of his sweater. “She says my parents were long gone when I was little.”_

_“I’m sorry to hear that." Riza looked at him intently, and Roy found out she had beautiful eyes like amber. “I think you’re lucky to have someone act like your mother.”_

_“Hey, I got no father figure,” Roy noted. “Does that make us even?”_

_Riza giggled, little dimples dug on the corners of her mouth. Roy froze— it was as if he heard a flower laugh._

_“Could you tell me more about Xing?” queried Riza, breaking Roy’s trance._

_“Oh. I don’t know much about it, though.” Roy slouched. “Just the fact they have fried dumplings, spring rolls, and a lantern festival like this one.” Roy eyed the remaining lanterns around them. “Such a pity they got wet from the rain, huh?”_

_“Yes." Riza set her gaze down. “I would have liked to see them light up the skies.”_

_A thought suddenly came to Roy. Riza was out late to witness the lantern festival. He pondered for a minute, and then he had an idea. “There’s still the Harvest Festival in Central.”_

_Riza gave him a puzzled look, to which Roy’s jaw slacked. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been to one!”_

_Riza smiled sheepishly, her eyes still downcast. “I never left this place.”_

_“You’ve never been to Central?” Roy exclaimed._

_Riza frowned. “What’s so great about it, anyway?”_

_“The people, the food— it’s my place!” Roy gushed about his hometown, his hands gesturing at every thought. “The way the entire city lights up after dark— it’s as if stars fell from the sky!”_

_Riza’s lips drew into a half-smile, gazing at him in amusement. “I think I’d like that.”_

_“You definitely would!” Roy leaned forward. “And in Harvest festivals, they shoot fireworks in the sky!”_

_Riza cocked her head, and Roy supplied an explanation. “Fireworks burst into the air and make lights of different colors. They go boom, boom, boom— like flowers of light at night!”_

_Riza giggled at Roy’s excitement and gestures. She never knew her father’s apprentice could be this goofy._

_“I’ll let you come with me!” Roy grinned, the widest he’s ever made. “If the Master approves, of course.”_

_Riza’s smile disappeared at the mention of her father. “Mister Mustang, I think we should get going.”_

_“Yeah, I guess so too.” Roy stood up, squeezing his cardigan dry. Fortunately, the rain had stopped pouring. Then he reached out a hand to Riza. “Call me Roy instead.”_

_Riza eyed his hand, then placed hers onto his palm. Roy helped her stand up, and their eyes met. With their hands still clasped, Riza smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Roy. Call me Riza.”_

_Roy smiled at her, then turned to the merchant. “Thanks for letting us stay, Mister.”_

_“Leaving so soon?” asked the old merchant._

_“Yes, Sir,” Roy said, his voice firm like a soldier’s._

_The merchant furrowed his brows. “But it’s the festival.”_

_Roy gave him a polite smile. “You see, someone ran away from home—”_

“ _Did not!” Riza spat._

_“Did too.” Roy stuck out his tongue._

_Riza blew raspberries at him, and the two children stared daggers at each other. The old merchant chuckled at the scene. “_ _You better run along now.”_

_“Thank you,” Roy regarded him with a polite smile. "How can we ever repay you?"  
  
"There's no need for that—"_

_"But I insist." Roy gave him a serious look. "It wouldn't be an equivalent exchange if we don't."  
  
The merchant chuckled, then eyed the trinkets on the mat. “How about you make a purchase?" _

_"Deal." Roy shook his pocket, coins clinking against each other. It was a good thing the Madame always sent him his monthly allowance. _“Riza, take your pick,” said Roy, his hands gesturing over the gems and trinkets on the mat.__

_"Are you sure?" Riza pouted. “Father will get mad—“_

_”And whose fault is that?” Roy smirked. "We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."_

_Ignoring him, Riza eyed the jewelry. They were rusty and muddy, just metal without its luster. Either they were secondhand or that they were made by hand. Her eyes darted between ruby amulets, emerald brooches, and pyrite earrings. Too big. Too heavy. Too noticeable. What would her Father react when he sees this? Then her eyes fell on a batch of iron rings. “I’ll take those.”_

_Roy squinted at the rings. “Don’t be too modest.”_

_“Then I’ll take two of those,” Riza declared._

_Roy chuckled. “You know, I have enough money to buy one for each of your fingers—“_

_“No, I'd only like two of those,” Riza asserted. “One for you, one for me.”_

_Roy blinked, and the merchant hid his smile. It may seem invaluable and cheap, but to Riza, it was priceless._

_It bears the memory of her very first friend._

_When they had arrived at the mansion, Berthold forbade them from getting too familiar with each other. Riza was only allowed to do groceries or go out hunting early in the morning. But that hadn’t stopped their friendship from blossoming._

**Autumn 1898**

**Roy - 13 years old**

**Riza - 11 years old**

_“How many books have you decoded?” Berthold asked Roy from across the dining table. Riza walked in with a hot plate of sausages with curry sauce. She had always been the one cooking, and Roy found it comforting._

_Tap tap. Tap tap. Roy drummed his fingers on the table before answering Berthold’s question, the iron ring glistening upon every move. It caught Riza’s attention, and she strained her ears for a code he would send. “Master, I have read_ **_twenty_ ** _books this month, and I have decoded_ ** _half_** _of them. So far, I have left_ **_nothing_ ** _unread from the requirements.”_

_“Excellent.” Berthold continued to consume his dinner. Riza made the same comment in her head. She gave a quick, knowing glance to Roy, who nodded in return._

_When the clock struck 20 and a half hours, or 8:30 that evening, Riza visited Roy in his study. It was what they had always done. Sometimes, they would meet up at dawn, and Roy would accompany Riza in hunting. It always amazes him how she never misses a shot from her arrows. Other times, they would meet at night; Roy would share what he learned about alchemy, and Riza would share about geography, history, or some of her novels._

_Tonight, they were climbing the ladder towards the roof of the mansion._

_“Riza, are you sure this is safe?” Roy trembled as he was climbing the wobbling flight of steps._

_“Of course,” Riza whispered from below him. “Mom and I used to come up here all the time!”_

_When they had reached the top, Riza unfurled a fur mat on the roof. They laid their backs on it and gazed at the night sky._

_“Don’t you think it’s funny how stars are just balls of fire?” Riza lifted her arms as if to touch the sky._

_“Now that you mention it," Roy sat up, “I might even make one right now.” He snaps, but all that came out was a spark._

_Riza chuckled softly at his miserable attempt. “Nice try, doofus.”_

_Roy smiled to himself. He didn’t care if he looked dumb in front of her— he’ll do all it takes to make her laugh._

_“When do you think you could learn Flame Alchemy?” asked Riza._

_“Whenever Master decides.” Roy sighed, swinging his arms at the back of his head. “He seems to have a time of his own.”_

_“Maybe you’re too slow,” teased Riza._

_“Am not!” quipped Roy._

_“Are too!”_

_Before Roy could retort, Riza shushed him and pointed a finger towards the sky. “There it is!”_

_Roy squinted into the pitch-black sky and finally saw it— a comet dividing the heavens. It glowed whitish-yellow, and trailing behind it was a tail of aquamarine with traces of purple. Roy has never seen anything like it, and to think they were flames in outer space. He looked at Riza beside him, whose eyes reflected the comet’s light. Sensing his gaze, Riza looked back at him, to which Roy’s heart thumped._

_“Beautiful, isn’t it?”_

_“You are.” Roy bit his tongue at making such a rash comment. Riza only laughed at him. “Not me, idiot, the comet!”_

_“Right." He averted his gaze, then looked up into the sky. “Make your wish.”_

_Riza clasped her hands and closed her eyes. Roy found the gesture silly but amusing. After a second, her eyes fluttered open, and she chirped, “Done!”_

_Roy arched his head and relaxed his shoulders. “Done.”_

_"What did you wish for?” asked Riza._

_Roy flicked Riza’s forehead. “Idiot, if you tell a wish, it won’t come true.”_

_Riza pursed her lips. “You’re making that up.”_

_“Am not.” Roy glared at her._

_“Fine.” Riza crossed her arms. “Don’t tell me.”_

_“I wish we’d always stick together,” Roy admitted. “Happy?”_

_Riza flashed a smile. “Good thing you told me. I hate to be stuck with you.”_

_“Not fair.” Roy cocked his hips. “You better tell me yours, then. Equivalent exchange!”_

_“If I told you, your wish won’t come true.”_

_Roy opened his mouth to comment, but he realized what she had meant. She wished they’d always be together too. Riza reached out to Roy’s hand. He could have sworn he felt electricity run through his veins._

_Then Riza yawned. "We should head back," she said, her hand still on his._

_Roy nodded, yet his thoughts were someplace else. He could feel his own heart wildly thumping out of his chest. Riza was no witch nor alchemist, but it seemed she had cast a spell on him. It took him years to study Flame Alchemy, yet he couldn’t even set anything ablaze. Riza, on the other hand, did it all too effortlessly. He felt hot and warm all over— as if she set his body on fire._

_What is up with her?_

**Summer 1900**

**Roy - 15 years old**

**Riza - 13 years old**

_“You’ll come back, right?” Riza pleaded as Roy was heading out to the doorway. Berthold has sent him out for reasons she could not understand. Roy had told him why he wanted to learn alchemy— to protect the people. Roy said that war was brewing in the East, and he wished to fight for the country. Riza found no fault at that, but her father certainly did. If he forbade Roy from joining the military, he could always tell him to find another way to protect people. Not banish him like this._

_“I’ll come back.” Roy drew out his smallest finger. “That’s a promise.”_

_Riza curled her little finger on his, her gaze on their clasped digits. It was the first moment she wished for time to stand still._ _“Where will you go from now?”_

_“Back to Central.” Roy looked at her wistfully. “I’m not sure if I could help in running the Madame’s shop, but we’ll see from then on—”_

_Riza hugged him. Roy was petrified— there she goes again with her spell. She smelled like vanilla and honey altogether. His hands made their way to enclose the blonde girl, and the two settled into an embrace. Riza pulled back, and Roy set forth his journey back to Central._

_“You better come back,” Riza called out to him. “I’ll be making beef stew!”_

_“Right back at ya!” Roy waved his hand back without turning around. His eyes were stinging, and it’s best not to leave a sad image on Riza’s last memory._

**Autumn 1905**

**Roy - 20 years old**

**Riza - 18 years old**

_Roy winced in horror at the array that lay before him. Riza, now a woman, showed her bare back to him and exposed the secrets of Flame Alchemy. What happened in all those years he was gone? Roy wanted to hold her close— but time had created a distance between them. It morphed them into two different people and created an anomaly between memory and reality._

_“Mister Mustang,” Riza broke the silence. “If you need anything—”_

_Roy covered her with his black military coat and pulls her into an embrace. Riza’s eyes widened, unable to move a muscle. His toned arms enclosed her in front of her collarbone. His breath blew warm against the nape of her neck. Then she felt a tiny pebble between their chests. Her fingers pressed on it, inspecting the discomfort— it was his iron ring. He must have worn it on his army identification tag._

_“I’m sorry.” Roy cut her thoughts, leaning his forehead against Riza. She swore she could hear him sniffle._

_“There’s nothing to forgive.” Riza cast her gaze down. “If you’d like, we could try again tomorrow.”_

_Riza turned to face him, her hands tugging his cloak to cover her body. Despite being a woman, she still looked tiny on his military cloak. “I’ll make you some beef stew, as I told you once before.”_

_Roy’s mouth turned into a crooked smile. “You remembered?”_

_“I always keep my promises.” Riza tucked a strand of her hair in her ear, her iron ring gleaming. “Just as you always keep yours.”_

_Her lips curled into a smile, and Roy felt his heart thump again. “Welcome back.”_

_She has grown, and a thought just occurred to him. This woman was Riza Hawkeye, the girl who never left his mind after all these years._

**Spring 1906**

**Roy - 20 years old**

**Riza - 18 years old**

_“Tell me if you need anything,” Riza maintained, dropping her blouse before Roy._

_“I’d say the same to you,” replied Roy, flipping his research notes and tapping down a pen._

_They spent the last few months in this manner, ever since their reunion. When Riza was on a break from the military academy, Roy would be studying the inscriptions embedded on her back. He had kept a considerable distance between her, and not once had he touched her since their embrace._

_They would spend hours like this. As Roy studied her back, Riza would busy herself by reading academic books or a novel. In their free time, they would catch up on all the years they’ve lost. Roy would tell her stories about his military training, how he met Maes Hughes, and how incredibly useful her father’s teachings were to him. Riza, in turn, would share her adventures with Rebecca Catalina, or that she never missed a single shot at the military academy. Often, she showed him her collections of books, arrows, and guns._

_“What are you reading this time?” Roy suddenly asked out of the blue._

_“A new playwright,” Riza replied, her eyes never leaving the manuscript. “It reminds me of you.”_

_Roy swaggered, “Why is that?”_

_“It’s about Peter Pan, The Boy Who Never Grew Up,” Riza smirked, to which Roy pouted._

_“Are you saying I’m immature?” His voice came out in falsetto. Riza chuckled, and Roy never thought he could receive another gift from the heavens._

_“All I’m saying is,” Riza glanced over her shoulder, looking at Roy behind her, “Some things never change.”_

_Roy met her gaze, which bore pools of spiraling amber. Warmth flowed all over his body again, and he felt as if he was burning in holy flames. Roy found himself smiling goofily all to himself._

_She was right. Some things never change._

**Winter 1907**

**Roy - 22 years old**

**Riza - 20 years old**

_“Where are you taking me?” Riza laughed, her hands fumbling in front of her. She had just graduated from the military academy, and now Roy was covering her eyes with his hands. She suspects he had pulled another prank on her._

_“You’ll see it when you see it,” Roy reassured. Then he halted once they arrived outside the mansion. The chilly winter breeze greeted them, and Riza tugged her cardigan closer._

_“Keep your eyes closed,” Roy instructed, placing her hands on her eyes._

_“What’s taking you so long?” Riza shifted her weight on one leg. “You’re always so slow.”_

_“Haven’t you heard of ‘haste makes waste’?” Roy called out to her. Then she heard a snap. Then another. And another. The next thing Riza knew, Roy put down her hands. “Open your eyes.”_

_Riza did as she was told and found herself in the middle of a sea of light. Sky lanterns glowed softly in a yellow-orange hue, floating around her like jellyfish that swallowed fire. Riza marveled at the sight, dazed by the forest’s fiery radiance. The whole place glowed warmly as if incandescent lights powered it. The lanterns painted the trees peach, and it looked like it was autumn again._

_"You can do Flame Alchemy?” exclaimed Riza._

_"Surprise, surprise." Roy nodded beside her. “I’ve been practicing while you were gone.”_

_Riza looked into his eyes, and Roy found himself drowning in her amber eyes. Her eyes glowed the brightest, despite all the lanterns around them._

_“Why?” asked Riza._

_Roy’s mouth parted. Her simple question struck him. Why had he done it? Roy hadn’t been sure himself. All he knew was that he wanted to make her feel appreciated for being with him throughout the years, for being there for her father, enduring pain to bear his secrets, and many more. And somehow, show her how he feels for her. I_

_Instead of telling his thoughts, he replied,_ _“I remembered you like to see lanterns, and fireworks, and stars. I couldn’t do the latter, so I settled with—”_

_Riza planted a kiss on his cheek. Roy’s eyes widened in shock, and Riza pulled back from him, “You talk too much.”_

_Roy touched his cheek with his finger, then examined it. “You know it takes more than that to shut me up.”_

_Suddenly, Roy yanked her close to him and covered her mouth with his. His lips brushed softly against hers like cotton on silk, just long enough that he could inhale her breath and feel the warmth of her skin. When he pulled back, milk and honey lingered on his tongue, and her scent flooded his senses. It was as if the air tasted like nothing but sweet vanilla with a trace of gunpowder._

_Riza’s eyes bulged wide. Her tongue licked the insides of her lips— he tasted like peppermint. She blinked several times, pulling herself back to reality._

_"Now that shuts the both of us up," Roy remarked._

_Riza shot him a glare. “Were you telling me I miscalculated?”_

_“I’m simply telling the Hawk’s Eye she missed.”_

_“That will be the first.”_

_“First miss?” Roy smirked. “Or first kiss?”_

_Riza scowled. “Let me try again then.”_

_“Am I worth the shot?” jeered Roy._

_“Figure that out yourself.”_

_Riza pulled him by his collar and slammed her lips on his. It was just them in the middle of the forest, with the warm lanterns glowing around them. Roy was sure no alchemy could cast magic as close to what they had between them._

* * *

**Early Autumn, 1917**

**Roy - 32 years old**

**Riza - 30 years old**

Flowers of light illuminated the night sky, bursting in red, purple, green, and blue. Another streak of light howled and popped in yellow and white. The Ishvalans were frightened at first, but they eventually appreciated the sight after realizing it was fireworks.

Roy had been snapping from here and there for half an hour. He sprinkled all his ignition cloth gloves with gunpowder, which allowed him to shoot fireworks in one snap. Each pair had different formulas of gunpowder, yielding to varying colors. He might as well learn how to wash them; he wouldn’t want the Captain to worry about how she’d clean _all_ of his gloves on one occasion.

“Alright,” Roy dusted his palms and turned to Havoc, Breda, Falman, and Fuery. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“Yes, Sir!” They all chimed in unison.

When Roy left, Havoc flicked his lighter ablaze. “You think he knows about the journal?”

“Of course he does,” Breda replied.

“He couldn’t bring himself to confront us," noted Falman. "Just as you said, Breda.”

“That was _my_ idea,” Fuery scowled as he was rubbing a matchstick to catch fire.

“And it was your idea to give it Scar,” Havoc pointed out. “The Chief wouldn’t have gotten the journal if it weren’t for him.”

“Hey.” Fuery glared at Havoc. “If it weren’t for him, the Captain and the Brigadier would have found out about it months ago!” 

“If it were us, we would have been toast,” added Breda, loading more gunpowder to the barrels.

“I agree,” contended Falman. “Plus, it was your idea to present it as propaganda.”

“Better than not being coded at all!” Havoc flailed his hands in the air. 

In the meantime, Roy scanned the district, his eyes searching for Riza. He then found her beside Hakuro and a few military men. When Roy approached, they congratulated him on a job well done. Roy plastered his political smile and shook hands with all of them. Then he cleared his throat, “If you don’t mind, shall I borrow my adjutant?”

“Of course,” Hakuro waved his hands dismissively. “She’s all yours.” He scoffed, his last statement having a different meaning than how he spoke it.

Riza trailed behind Roy, who was leading her to a less crowded place. They were now standing atop of a sand dune, with a few Ishvalans having a picnic a few miles from them. 

Once settled, they watched the fireworks light up the sky. Roy glanced back at her, “Happy birthday, Captain.” 

“Thank you, Brigadier.” Riza bowed her head. “I figured it could reach you.”

“You’re welc—” Roy halted as he processed her last statement. “What do you mean?” 

“The journal,” Riza replied flatly.

Roy’s jaw dropped. “You _know_ about it?”

“I was the one who suggested the code.”

“A-And you’re part of all of this?” stammered Roy.

“Not exactly.” Riza placed a hand on her chin. “While they were talking about it, I saw the title of their journals.”

“Which is?”

“They’re keeping a surveillance log about us.”

Roy belched out a chuckle. “And you suggested coding it into _fireworks?_ ”

“But they’re not aware I know about it.”

Roy clapped his hands on his head. It was a lot to take in. 

Riza’s tone then turned serious. “We have to get it as far away from the military as possible.” 

“I think I prefer to have it in our hands. It’s written in a code, after all," said Roy. “Besides, I doubt Hakuro or anyone could decode it.”

Riza arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think it takes a genius to raise suspicion between us.”

“So you’re confirming it?” derided Roy.

“What?” Riza furrowed her eyebrows. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

Riza only rolled her eyes. Then their conversation dropped into silence. They gazed into the booming, blossoming fire flowers in the sky. They popped into blue and purple embers, bursting like a supernova. Aside from silence, considerable distance also maintained a barrier between them, in contrast to their proximity ten years ago.

“Thank you,” Riza acknowledged, her gaze never leaving the fireworks. “I’ve always wanted to see one of those outside work.”

“It’s a bit overdue.” Roy glanced at her. “But I always keep my promises, don’t I?”

A tight-lipped smile grew across Riza’s face. “You sure do.”

Roy sighed, gazing at the fireworks display. “Ever wonder when we could come back to those days?”

Riza pondered for a moment. Somehow she knew he’d ask that question. “In due time, Sir.”

“Ah," rasped Roy. He looked down his at his boots. “I never thought it would take this long.”

“Quite impatient, are you?” Riza mocked. “Whatever happened to ‘haste makes waste’?”

“Well, I realized we don't have all the time in the world,” Roy contemplated. 

“Says someone who procrastinates.”

“Says someone who _doesn’t_ procrastinate!”

“How about we start dealing with what’s in our hands?” 

“If I set the journal on fire tonight, would we finally—”

“That would only raise suspicion,” warned Riza. “Not to mention we’re always being watched.”

“Well then what do you suggest we do?”

“Perhaps we can give it to Edward as a gift, along with one of White Chianti’s puppies,” Riza mused. “Winry might appreciate it if he’d make the fireworks himself, considering he’s no longer capable of alchemy.”

Roy cocked his head. “Why would I give the Fullmetal a gift?”

"Oh, you haven’t read it?”

“Haven’t read _what_ exactly?” Roy furrowed his brows. 

“They’ve invited us as guests,” Riza announced. “Edward and Winry are getting married this December.”

* * *

_Snap!_ A photo had developed instantly. As Roy and Riza were talking, an Ishvalan left the picnic and ran back to the district. Upon his arrival, he handed the set of photos to Lieutenant-General Hakuro. 

“Thank you, child,” Hakuro ruffled his hair. He then gave him a pouch of 1000 cenz as gratitude. 

The photos weren’t scandalous, but Hakuro thought it would suffice. Given the context, anyone would be quick to believe his narrative. The famous Flame Alchemist and his loyal Hawk’s Eye were alone, away from the crowd, watching the fireworks bursting in the midnight sky. Not to mention the way they looked at each other as if they were trying their best to keep their hands to themselves.

Hakuro surreptitiously slid the photos in his cloak. He knew he needed to collect more evidence, but at least he’s got one proof with him. _One of many_ , he snickered to himself. 

Mustang’s reign as Führer will fall before it even begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are definitely brewing. 
> 
> Thoughts? Comments? I'd love to hear them all!! 
> 
> I always thought West City lacks exploration, so I assumed the Hawkeye residence is in the West (I'm not sure if I mentioned this in the Black Hayate Chapter so here it is) And in the Star of Milos movie, the boundary between Creta and Amestris had a mine. So, I figured jewelry was the specialty in West Amestris.
> 
> The lantern festival is actually a real thing in Germany. It's called the Laternelaufen, or Walking with Lanterns. Idk I just did some research about it, I'm not German or anything (but I would love to got there someday). Amestris is based on Germany, after all! 
> 
> Also, this is loosely based on this amazing doujinshi on Pixiv (god I can't stop talking about how sublime this is). It's called [ Under the Gooseberry Tree by マヤ ](https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/82905457)
> 
> And since I compared Riza to Rapunzel, why not have a Tangled-like scene? (GOD I LOVE TANGLED it's one of my favorite Disney movies) 
> 
> As you can see, I tend to associate Riza with classic stories. That Peter Pan isn't a coincidence-- I don't leave out a single detail in my fics! In line with that headcanon, I made an AMV a few months back :3 Of course, I'll be incorporating all my headcanons in this fic (except for how it ended,,,,,,, I might tweak it a bit)  
> It's [ cardigan - Roy and Riza on Youtube! ](https://youtu.be/0ciXkmQ_9Ac)
> 
> RE: Xingese Roy! I noticed how he looked Xingese, but he had no clue about Xingese alchemy. I'm wondering about Izumi Curtis too. Anyway, I was glad to read a one-shot exploring about Roy's descent, and it pushed me to adopt the Xingese Roy headcanon I have! Go read it loves, it's beautiful! It's [ Jiu by agentcalliope ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15240264)
> 
> I might get busy huhuh it's our finals period! Wish me luck! Also, feel free to slide into my DMs on [ Tumblr ](https://meridianheroine.tumblr.com/) (I have tons of FMA sideblogs like royriza, fullmetalanalyst, hawkeyebullets, etc LOL), [ Twitter ](https://twitter.com/meridianheroine) and [ Instagram! ](https://instagram.com/meridianheroine)
> 
> Thank you for tuning in to my story, see you in the next chapter (I'm excited to write this one wahah).
> 
> Next chapter: The Elrics (Ed and Winry's Wedding)!


	8. Log 08: The Elrics (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021! It's a bit late, but here is my holiday gift to you for being such wonderful readers! Two chapters of glorious Edwin and Royai (and AlMay) parallelism with a total of 14k words! I've added some build-up and background into the characters here so that the wedding would be more va-va-voom (in Arakawa's words lol). 
> 
> The royai bits here are subtle, because I wanted to show royai through edwin and almay (parallelism yea baby!).  
> This is the chapter that has a lot of ties with the previous chapters (and Mangahood events). 
> 
> You could re-read the previous chapters if you'd like! I've also added a lot of foreshadowing details for [ Meridian ](https://meridianheroine.tumblr.com/post/635954182347702272/update-november-28-est-i-shared-a-lil-bit-more), the sequel for this fic. You could get the faintest idea of the future conflicts in Meridian ;) And we only have 3 more chapters left of RROJ!
> 
> And remember, since this is a prequel, the entirety of this fic transitions from light scenes to heavy scenes (which is why the rating is now Mature).  
> Without further ado, ENJOY!
> 
> More notes:  
> FMA name translations are so confusing! I checked the FMA English dub and they called Halcrow as Hakuro. Apparently, it was Hakuro all along, but the newest translation of the FMA Manga named him Halcrow. I might stick with Hakuro this time. Then there’s the Mei/May and Shao/Xiao variation 😩 For this fic, I’ll name them May Chang and Shao May!
> 
> \+ Special thanks to the lovely volvare for making a [ beautiful artwork of Royai's Lantern Scene from Chapter 7! ](https://volvare.tumblr.com/post/639345081661407232/i-finally-got-around-to-posting-these-this-is) And she made them young AAA my heart. Go check volvare out guys! She's so sweet, approachable, and talented!
> 
> ++ I also made a [ fic based from volvare's art!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27684853/chapters/67750258) It takes place during the Mangahood events, but it serves as my little compensation for leaving you hanging in Chapter 4 (hmm I wonder what they did at Roy's apartment)

**Log 08: The Elrics (Part I)**

**Winter 1917**

In the easternmost city of Amestris, the Elric brothers spent the night before the wedding at Youswell Inn. Winry insisted it would be bad luck if Ed saw her before the ceremony, which Ed found impractical. The train ticket to and from Resembool costs a lot of time and money, not to mention he isn’t a state alchemist anymore. Who knew everything had always been this expensive?

Perhaps the world _does_ favor alchemy.

Ed grumbled, taking a sip from his coffee.

They had arrived in Amestris weeks ago; to prepare for the wedding and to report their annual research findings to Central. At first, Ed was skeptical about sharing their research with the government. But he must admit, he had to be practical: he needed _funding_. And so, Al persuaded him to enlist as a State Researcher under Dr. Marcoh, who was also interested in combining research from the East and the West. The salary was five times lower, but it’s better than nothing. Plus, he got to keep his silver pocket watch.

Al, on the other hand, was finally a State Alchemist. 

“Oy, Al.” Ed stared at Al, who was chowing down his breakfast as if he hadn’t eaten for _years_ (which is true). “Better slow down on that bacon.”

“I couldn’t help myself!” Al sputtered, his mouth full of eggs and bacon. “We eat every meal like this in Xing, don’t we, guys?”

Seated across them were Jerso and Zampano, who now had stacks of empty plates in front of them. The two chimeras burped. 

“Already done,” croaked Jerso, the toad chimera.

“You’re too slow, Alphonse,” snorted Zampano, the razorback hog.

“Not fair,” Al whined between gulps. “I don’t have animal guts! And I’m still getting used to my body.”

Ed sighed. “No wonder they call you the Corporal Alchemist.”

Al continued gobbling down his food, while the chimeras were discussing theories on getting their bodies back. Ed must admit it was great to reunite with his brother and get a few steps closer to reverting chimeras. But after only nine months of research, they have little, if any, supplemental knowledge about it. He eyed the sketchbook pensively.

Jerso asked, “So, you mean to say, our theory of purification is correct?” 

“In a nutshell, yes,” Al said promptly.

“So we have to separate the soul, then reconfigure the body?” Zampano guessed.

“Yeah.” Al waved his fork. “But to do that, we gotta know what souls are made of.”

“But we have a little problem,” said Ed, pulling the sketchbook. He scribbled something beside the soul drawing. “Unlike Al, your bodies don’t seem to have a rebound.”

Al straightened in his seat. “I noticed that too.” 

“Yeah, we never black-out,” said Zampano.

Jerso added, “Except if we lose in a fight, that is. Or hit our heads.”

"Or starve," supplied Zampano.

Ed took another sip from his coffee, thinking intently. “I think… your souls are mixed with the animal’s.”

Jerso and Zampano raised their brows in shock.

“Fair point,” commented Jerso. “I think I’ve always known.”

“No wonder it feels different,” remarked Zampano.

Al inspected the drawing. “That is a problem. So now we have to split the souls, too?”

“Yeah.” Ed looked up. “To do that, we gotta find what makes the two souls distinct.”

“I guess so,” Al pondered. “And another problem is using which kind of alchemy. In Amestris, we use tectonic plate movements, while Xing uses the _chi_.”

“Any ideas on what the _chi_ translates to?” asked Ed.

“They say it’s the Dragon’s breath,” said Al, eyes still on the drawing. “Maybe air?”

“Hm. We need more research,” Ed declared, taking the last sip from his cup of coffee. “We gotta explore beyond Creta and Xing.”

Al nodded. “We’re on to something, brother!”

A paycheck suddenly dropped on their table. Ed felt his eyes bulge after reading it. “5,000 cenz?”

“Yeah, that’s for the food and your stay,” Mr. Halling, the innkeeper, said as-a-matter-of-fact. 

Ed frowned. “No discounts?”

“None.”

“But we helped you —”

“Yeah, hero or not, rules are rules.” Mr. Halling ruffled his hair. “Now, pay up, kiddo.”

Al slammed his silver pocket watch on the table. “I’ll take it from here, brother.” He then dumped 5,000 cenz on the paycheck. 

Mr. Halling said his thanks, then gawked at Al. “So _that’s_ what you look like inside the armor!”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Al chuckled, then watched Mr. Halling leave.

Zampano and Jerso also excused themselves from the table, returning to their quarters to change into their attire. Good thing he and Ed were already wearing theirs.

In the meantime, Ed pounded his fist on the mahogany table, mumbling to himself. The inn wouldn’t be this successful if they hadn’t kicked Yoki (and the rest of the corrupt government) out of Youswell. If it weren’t for him and Al, Youswell wouldn’t have inherited the gold mines, and the inn wouldn’t have gotten this rich.

 _Some sense of gratitude._ Ed thought with a bitter pang. He couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.

“Al, how long until we meet Ling and the gang?” muttered Ed. “Winry would kill me if we're late.” 

“Oh, about that.” Al fumbled his cloak, then pulled out a small envelope. His eyes scanned the letter for a few moments before looking up to Ed. “Yup, Ling isn’t coming.”

“What?” Ed shrieked, his voice hoarse, and thin. “What do you mean Ling isn’t coming?” 

“It says here that Ling had duties in reuniting Xing,” noted Al. “That’s understandable. The country has been in a crisis lately.”

Ed gave his brother a perplexed look. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you see, the emperor died before they arrived. Then there was a clash of clans, an epidemic spreading, and The Great War of the Nations,” narrated Al, counting his fingers as he did. “Fortunately, when we got there, Ling was hailed as emperor.”

“So Ling finally made it, huh,” Ed smirked. “Good for him.”

Ed stared at his empty plate, thoughts elsewhere. Even in Creta, people never stopped talking about The Great War of the Nations. Perhaps humans, even outside the borders, had always been susceptible to war and conflict. Just puny beings lured by power and greatness. _If they knew about the Philosopher’s Stone..._ He felt his brows furrowed. “So, what happened to the stone?”

“They told everyone it doesn’t exist,” Al said, his eyes downcast. “Makes sense though, especially after seeing what happened on The Promised day. But we could ask for more details from May when she arrives.”

“Huh.” Ed rested his chin on his palm. “So the midget is the only one coming?” 

Al responded with a small nod.

“Why didn’t she come with you?”

“She said she still had some stuff to do with her clan. So we’ve been writing each other letters for updates.”

Ed smirked. “So you've been pen pals with her all this time?”

“I guess you could say that,” noted Al. Realizing what his brother was implying, his face flushed red. “B-but it’s not in the way you think!”

“That’s what they all say, Al.”

“Don’t put the spotlight on me, Brother!”

“And why not?”

“You’re the one getting married to Winry today!”

“B-b —” Ed stammered, his face as red as a tomato. “But you dragged me all the way here just to fetch the midget!”

“And you didn’t complain.”

“Only because we didn’t have a place to stay!”

“Exactly,” Al put forth. “Besides, Winry would hate the idea of us staying with Rosé at Liore.” 

“Okay, fine,” Ed said, admitting defeat. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re exchanging letters with the Xingese urchin.”

“Places everyone.” Mr. Halling called from the counter. “We have another traveler passing by.” 

He ordered his son, Kyle Halling, to invite the traveler in. Kyle hurried outside, along with other Youswell citizens. Some peered from their windows, selling their services to the upcoming traveler. From afar, they all flocked together like pigeons eyeing a breadcrumb.

“Over here!”

“Why don’t you try our dishes?”

“I think I’ve seen you here before!” 

“Oh, you’re looking for the Heroes of Amestris?” asked Kyle. “The Elric brothers are staying at our inn. But I’m afraid you have to leave the cat.” 

“She’s not a cat!” yipped a familiar high-pitched voice. 

Al glanced at Ed. “Yup, that’s May.”

“Finally!” Ed exclaimed. He grabbed his suitcase and marched his way to the exit. Before he could reach the handle, the door swung right open, hitting him in the face.

“Mister Alphonse!” May Chang sashayed across the room. Upon seeing Ed on the floor, panic splashed across her face. “Mister Alphonse, I didn’t mean to hit you!”

“I’m right over here, May.” Al raised his hand sheepishly. May blinked once. Twice. Then she ran towards Al’s direction. “Mister Alphonse!”

Ed groggily reached for the door and pushed himself up, grumbling and muttering curses under his breath. His automail leg creaked as he stood erect, and thank god he wouldn’t be needing any maintenance during the wedding or else Winry would break it to pieces herself. After dusting his coat, he watched his brother awkwardly converse with the Xingese princess. Then a sly smile spread across Ed’s mouth; the moment might come in handy as blackmail. 

“M-May, you —” Alphonse gestured to her, his hands uttering the words his mouth fails to speak. Her long, braided strands were tied into two buns, emphasizing her slender neck and porcelain skin. The little Xingese girl truly grew into a lady. Her eyes, however, remained the same; they still crinkle whenever she flashes him her sweet smile. Al wished he could tell her all these compliments, but all he could muster at that moment were three words. “Y-You look different.”

“You think so?” May almost squealed. Her cheeks were burning, and she found herself tucking a strand of her hair (even though it’s already tied back). Alphonse looked dashing in Western formal attire, which fit snugly on his broad shoulders. With his now-evident chiseled jaw line, he looked like a foreign prince. May beamed, “You look good too!” 

Ed suddenly burst into laughter. Al and May spun their heads in his direction, only to see him reaching his back _desperately_. 

“Get off!” Ed started spinning around, revealing Shao May clinging on to his vest as if her life depends on it. 

“Shao May!” May called to her little panda pet, who flung out of Ed and crash-landed on one of the dining tables. The guests shrieked as the panda shook itself dry, covered in egg yolk. “It’s a rat!”

May gasped and ran towards the ruckus, while Al went to check on his brother. 

Ed dusted his vest and snapped his silver watch open. It was 8:00 in the morning, and they better leave pronto.

“Elric brothers?” Mr. Halling interjected.

 _What now?_ Ed groaned to himself. “What you got there for us, pops?”

“You have someone on the line for ya.”

Ed scrambled his way to the inn counter and picked up the telephone. He gulped. This better not be Winry. “H-hello?”

“Edward!” buzzed the telephone. 

“M-master Izumi?” Ed bit his tongue. 

This was worse. 

“I’m terribly sorry, but —” Izumi Curtis was interrupted by the howling wind. “My husband and I are still fetching your wedding gift!”

“Wedding gift?” Ed croaked. _Just where the hell are they?_ He worked his jaw, trying his best to keep his mouth shut. 

“Edward,” came Sig Curtis’ deep voice. “You’ll need to find someone else to escort Winry.”

Ed pressed two fingers against his temples. Yup, this was _way_ worse. 

“Not to worry, Ed,” Izumi huffed proudly, her voice crackling. “We’ll make it up to you with this gift.”

“But —” 

The call dropped before he could finish his sentence. Ed heaved out a sigh. It was time for his last resort, and the thought of it made him shudder. “Mr. Halling? Do you have the contact details for Ishval Headquarters?”

“Hm?” Mr. Halling raised his bushy eyebrow. “You mean New Ishval? Hold on.”

Mr. Halling pulled out a logbook from his drawer, then showed Ed the contact details. “There ya go. It’s the last one on the list. Had to add that one since a lot of travelers keep asking for it. Believe it or not, New Ishval’s getting famous, and I heard Mustang is working on a railway trade with Xing.”

Ed wrinkled his nose at the mention of Mustang. He sure hoped Hawkeye would answer the call for him.

“Don’t mean to pry, but,” Mr. Halling went on. “Aren’t weddings illegal between two military officers?”

Ed paused. “What do you mean?”

“Isn’t the wedding gift for that Mustang guy?”

“No way in hell!” Ed slammed the telephone down. “ _I’m_ the one getting married!”

“Really?” Mr. Halling leaned forward. “Aren’t you a little too _young_ to get married?”

“I’m eighteen, for god’s sake!” 

“Oh, you are? You little rascal.” Mr. Halling ruffled Ed’s hair. “I’ll give you my best wishes. You kids grow up so fast.”

Ed shoved his hand away. “Why’d you think _he’s_ the one getting married?” 

“Heard he’s got an affair,” Mr. Halling spoke nonchalantly. “It’s on Buzz Central. Don’t look at me, a guest left it on the table the other day.” 

He placed a tabloid on the counter— it had Roy and Riza on the front page with the headline, _internal affairs_ . Ed gaped at their alleged leaked photo; it was blurry and low-quality, but one could tell it was _them_ standing next to each other watching the fireworks. There were other photos as well, such as Roy and Riza exchanging glances during a meeting, or Riza wiping Roy’s sweat behind the tents.

“It can’t be.” Ed gaped at the tabloid. “These don't even look scandalous.” 

But the headlines act as if it is.

“Well, you know people.” Mr. Halling shrugged. “I don’t give a crap about gossip but this one involves politics. Didn’t you say he was your commander before or —?”

Ed snatched the tabloid and threw it in the trash bin. _Roy Mustbang? Riza Fuckeye?_ Whether the rumors be true or not, they deserve better than any of this trash. 

Ed turned to Mr. Halling. “If you see anyone reading that, tell them to mind their own business.”

“I did,” Mr. Halling replied. “That’s why they left it here.”

“Thanks.” Ed gave him a small nod. Then he finally dialed New Ishval Headquarters, thoughts wavering between his wedding and the ‘scandal’ on the tabloid. No matter how much he wanted to deny the rumor, all arrows pointed to their possible relationship.

It couldn’t be true, right?

A receptionist answered the telephone line, and Ed told them he’s calling for Major General Mustang. After several rings, someone finally picked it up. 

“Mustang here.”

“Damn it.”

“Fullmetal?” He sounded surprised. “Excited to see me on my best coat?”

“Stop flattering yourself, hothead,” retorted Ed. “Bet you didn’t even take a shower—”

“I’m not _that_ useless on the water!” spat Roy, his voice in falsetto. “But I suppose you didn’t call me on your wedding day to pick a fight with me.”

Ed wheezed, “Who knows.”

Roy ignored his comment. “Is something the matter, Fullmetal?”

“Winry needs an escort —”

“Request approved.”

“I —” Ed paused, baffled. “Well, that was quick.”

“As long as you do me a favor,” Roy remarked.

Ed grunted. “Why does it always have a catch?”

“You still owe me 520 cenz!”

“ _That’s_ for when you’ve reached your _goal_.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, fine. You know what? Just save details later.” Ed uttered hastily. “Don’t you dare touch her when it’s unnecessary.”

“I believe that’s self-explanatory,” Roy replied coolly. “People may call me many things, but I was raised to be a gentleman.”

“I’ll keep my eye on you,” Ed warned. “You better arrive at the venue on time.”

“As always.”

”That means earlier than 14:00 hours, not _on the dot._ Why isn’t the Lieutenant— or whatever her rank is— nagging your lazy ass out the office?”

“Well,” Roy clicked his tongue. “First, she’s a Major now. Second, she’s already there.”

“In Resembool?” 

“Yes, you heard it right.”

Ed’s mouth went dry. His former superiors didn’t plan on going to the wedding together, despite coming from the same place. Either Hawkeye was fed up with his ‘ _Royness_ ’ or they must have known about the rumors. 

“Can I get you anything else, Fullmetal?” 

“Nah, that’s all I needed to say.”

“Well then, don’t forget to count all your debt.”

“Only if you won’t be late,” Ed said, and he dropped the call. 

It’ll be a long day for him. He eyed Al and May, who were on the table with Jerso and Zampano, catching up on each other’s lives. Ed sighed. He finally found one thing he and Al have that Mustang doesn’t. 

But he never thought he wouldn’t be using it against him.

* * *

Winry stared off into the view from her terrace, gazing wistfully at the enormous glass tent pitched on the Resembool grasslands. Thankfully, her peers from Rush Valley helped in creating the makeshift greenhouse. And to think they once didn’t agree with having Resembool as the wedding venue. Whenever she would bring it up, they would suggest otherwise.

_‘How about Liore? The cathedral there is world-class.’_

_‘I hear the North is an absolute winter wonderland, perfect for your wedding day.’_

It was nothing new; Winry was used to the way her friends look at her when they ask her the same thing back in primary school. But Winry didn’t care; her eyes were always set on anything she wanted. 

She watched the blades of grass sway along with the December breeze, and she could almost see their younger selves running around the field. Little Al was playing with the sheep, while little Ed and Winry were lying down on the grass.

> _“Winry,” Ed went on. “When Al and I get taller than you —”_
> 
> _“That would never happen.”_
> 
> _“Let me finish first, will ya?”_
> 
> _“Okay, whatever.” Winry rolled her eyes._
> 
> _“When Al and I get taller than you,” Ed averted his gaze, “— who would you marry?”_
> 
> _Winry looked at him as if he told her the grass was red. “You. Duh.”_
> 
> _Ed widened his eyes. Winry, realizing what she had just said, cupped her cheeks. “O-of course, but only because you’re older than Al! And you only gave me two options!”_
> 
> _Ed scratched his cheek, “Y-Yeah.”_
> 
> _“But again, that will never happen.” Winry stuck out her finger._
> 
> _“I guess so,” said Ed._
> 
> _Winry smirked. “You couldn’t even get taller than your younger brother —”_
> 
> _“Hey, you better take that back!”_
> 
> _“But it’s true!”_
> 
> _Ed frowned, eyes on the grass beside him. Then he muttered, “Why do we need to get taller anyway?”_
> 
> _Winry huffed. “It’s what I want.”_

Winry smiled at the memory. Ed may call it stubborn, but to her, it was adamance. There was something admirable about a person who knows exactly what they want. 

“Winry dear,” Garfiel called her from inside her room. “Come inside now.

“You might catch a cold!” Paninya cried out.

All at once, the cold December air kissed her bare shoulders. Winry shivered; she might have underestimated how chilly her wedding day will be. 

As Winry got inside, Garfiel was making final touches on her wedding dress, then Paninya helped her put it on. Its A-line silhouette fits her perfectly; the gold, intricate Victorian patterns on its cream charmeuse fabric matches her personality. The sweetheart neckline dips down her collar, garnering a modest reveal of her cleavage. Winry looked at the mirror, admiring the elegant gown Garfiel made for her. Then she sat in front of the dressing table, grabbing her hairbrush. All she needed now was to fix her hair and put on accessories. 

“We’ll leave you to it, dear.” Garfiel fluffed Winry’s wedding dress. “I’ll be checking the bridesmaids.” 

“And that includes me,” Paninya hugged her tight. “Don’t be late for your own wedding!”

“You know I won’t,” Winry chirped back. Ed will arrive later than she will anyway. 

That is if he does arrive. 

Her hands mindlessly fiddled with her hairbrush. Was this what they call _cold feet?_ When Pinako asked her if she ever had second thoughts, her immediate answer was _no_ . She was _Winry Rockbell_ , for heaven’s sake. But one thing she isn’t sure about is what if others were having second thoughts on her? What if there was someone better, not for her, but for Ed?

A bark interrupted her thoughts, then Den was howling downstairs. Winry hurried outside the terrace to check who visited them— it was Riza Hawkeye. 

“Miss Riza!” exclaimed Winry.

The female soldier looked up and smiled at her. “Why Winry. You look gorgeous.” 

Winry smiled back. It was a familiar scene to have Riza on their porch again. Only this time, she was alone, and she wasn’t wearing her military attire. Her hair was down, and a modest, long gown of silver satin hugged her figure. She looked like a trophy.

“What brings you here, Miss Riza?” Winry said. “The venue is over there.” She pointed a finger towards the glass tent.

“Ah,” Riza began. “I might have to hand over your present a little early.”

A white puppy then ran from their porch, followed by Den.

Winry cocked her head curiously. “Is it the puppy?”

“Precisely.”

Winry watched Den and the puppy play in the grass. She has never seen Den this happy and lively before. “That’s very thoughtful, Miss Riza!” 

“But there’s one more thing,” Riza cried out. “And I think it matches your dress.”

Upon her suggestion, Winry invited Riza upstairs. Her timing was impeccable; Winry needed a second opinion for her wedding look. 

“There you go.” Riza pinned a pair of silver chandelier earrings on Winry. Then she grabbed the brush and started combing Winry’s hair.

Winry watched her new earrings dangle and dazzle on her ears. Its opulent amber jewel was quite heavy, and judging by its appearance, it was costly and authentic. It seemed like one of the finest pieces of jewelry from West Amestris.

“Miss Riza,” Winry gasped. “Are you sure these are for me?”

“Of course,” Riza reassured her. “I noticed you were fond of earrings, so I thought it would suit you best.”

“You’re really observant,” noted Winry. 

“Well, it would be a shame to let it dust on my shelf for years,” Riza admitted humbly.

“So this was yours?”

Riza shook her head. “This was my mother’s.”

Winry let out a small ‘oh’. She had so many questions, but she didn’t want to press any further. They both fell silent for a while, and the only sound made was the brushing of her hair.

“You know,” Winry said, fidgeting with her gown. “It’s a funny coincidence that you gave me earrings.”

“How come?” asked Riza.

“You see,” Winry went on, “I started wearing earrings because of you. I’ve never met a soldier before, and a lady one, at that. So, you were kind of an inspiration to me, even in the little things.” 

Riza’s lips parted for a while, then she smiled. “When I first met you, I admired how your hair looked nice on you. So I wore my hair long for the first time.”

Winry almost gasped out loud. She made an impact on _Riza Hawkeye._ She felt her lips spread from ear to ear. “It’s an equivalent exchange then.”

Riza laughed softly. “It certainly is.” 

None of them spoke for the next moments. Except when Riza would ask Winry if she’d like to keep her hair down (she preferred a half-up, half-down hairstyle), or how she wanted it tied (braided, with the ends curled). Then Winry showed Riza how her curling iron works, and Riza began curling the ends of Winry’s hair, one bunch after another. 

Winry felt herself dozing off. Who knew getting your hair brushed was as soothing as a lullaby? The moment felt surreal, and Winry never knew how much she yearned for it.

“Miss Riza?”

“Mm?”

“I think you’d make a great mother.”

Riza’s eyes widened. No one has ever told her that before. 

“Oh,” Winry laughed nervously. “If you plan on settling down, that is.”

“Do you mean leaving the military?”

“Yup, something like that.” 

Riza pondered for a while. “I never thought of that before.”

“Even after that certain someone accomplishes their goal?” Winry asked. “I mean, you did say you joined the military for that reason. To protect them.”

Riza tried her best to keep a straight face. But her lips gave away her distress, protruding into a pout. “Perhaps I prefer setting my eyes on what’s in front of me first.”

“Oh.” Winry bit her lip. It must have been a personal question, and so she attempted to change the topic. “If you ask me, my goal has always been to help people, just like my parents.”

Riza cast her eyes on Winry. Considering her interest, Winry proceeded, “I thought that maybe, with automail, I could see the world from their eyes.” 

_Like, why would they leave their own family to save a bunch of strangers_? Winry thought. She clenched her fist on the skirt of her gown. “Now that I’m a mechanic, I kinda get it. I'm tending to tons of clients, but I couldn't help but feel useless to those I’m closest to.” 

“With Ed and Al?” asked Riza.

“Yeah,” Winry replied.

After all, Winry found the health allied occupation ironic. While she reconfigures some stranger’s knee cap, Ed and Al were off to near-death experiences— one after another. Ed lost his arm and leg, while Al lost his _body_ , for god’s sake. She felt powerless, and to think it was her job to make people feel whole again. While the brothers dance with danger, Winry spent most of her days _waiting_. It was agonizing. Now that the Elric brothers were hailed as the Heroes of Amestris, she couldn’t help but feel… small. She couldn’t catch up with them— and she never has. To make matters more confusing, Ed was tying the knot to some simpleton like her. 

“Winry,” Riza cut her thoughts. “What you said about feeling useless… It reminded me of what Edward once told me.”

Winry perked up, intrigued.

“If I recall correctly,” Riza mused. “It was when you first encountered Scar. Edward said he felt useless for not knowing what you were going through.”

“He… he did?” asked Winry, mouth agape.

Riza nodded, then placed a hand on Winry’s shoulder. “It’s normal to feel useless, especially when it comes to protecting someone.”

Winry leaned back against her chair. _So Ed had a moment of weakness too._

“We all have our own ways to support the ones we care about,” Riza consoled. “And I think yours is most admirable.”

Winry’s forehead creased. “Why is that?”

“Hmm.” Riza thought for a moment. “If it weren’t for you, Edward and Alphonse wouldn’t have gotten their bodies back.”

Winry dwelled on that thought. She knew her automail has helped them on some level, but she never took the credit. Now that she mulled it over, Ed chose _her_ to be his mechanic— not the more professional and experienced ones. Ed has traveled _miles_ , but in the end, he still chose her to be by his side. 

And to be his bride. 

Winry cupped her face as felt her cheeks heat up.

“Plus,” added Riza. “You were able to accomplish your own goal, even while helping them achieve theirs.”

Winry exhaled, recomposing herself. “I guess you’re right.”

She let Riza’s words resonate within her, then she remembered all her clients in Rush Valley. A boy who was crippled by a car accident is now running in a marathon. A war veteran who lost both her arms started writing letters for those who couldn’t, connecting the hearts of many. Winry has helped so many people, just like Ed and Al did. 

After several moments of brushing and curling, Winry’s wedding look was finished. Her hair was braided in a half-up hairstyle like a crown, and its curled ends flowed down to her waist. The silver earrings sparkled as she moved, and it was the perfect piece to complete her ensemble. Winry looked like a princess from children’s storybooks— every little girl’s dream.

“Thank you, Riza!” Winry beamed.

“I don’t think I’m the best person to ask for beauty advice,” Riza replied meekly. “But I’m glad I could help.”

“You’ve helped me in a lot of ways today,” Winry contended. “More than you‘ll ever know.” 

Riza smiled back at her, then glanced at the clock. It was past noon. “We better run along now. You wouldn’t want to keep your prince waiting.”

They went downstairs, and Riza helped Winry and Pinako get into the wedding carriage. It was a small wagon with makeshift glass walls, led by a black stallion. It truly was a wedding that came straight from a fairy tale.

“I’ll wait for the carriage to come back,” Riza said, shoving the trail of Winry’s dress inside the wagon.

“Alright,” noted Pinako. “Thank you, Miss Riza.”

With that, the wagon set off. As they moved a few feet away, Winry cried out, “Oh, and Riza!”

Riza glanced up.

“I hope you find your own goal!”

Riza froze. Then she forced a smile and gave them a small wave. As she watched them move farther and farther away, a memory came into play. 

> _“What about this one?” Little Riza cried out._
> 
> _“This one?” Eliza Hawkeye pointed to the silver chandelier earrings. “This was when I married your father.”_
> 
> _“Oh,” Riza stared at its amber jewel. “It looks beautiful.”_
> 
> _“You know, someday, you’ll wear it too.”_
> 
> _“When?”_
> 
> _“On your own ‘happily ever after’.”_

Riza gazed into the grass fields, wondering what kind of goal she truly sought. Then, she shook her head. She’s a grown-up, and there was more to life than getting what she wanted. But her thoughts still linger to a single what-if. 

* * *

“Look at the fantastic craftsmanship!” Alex Armstrong exclaimed. “It’s as if we are in the hanging gardens of Babylon!”

Armstrong marveled at the enormous glass ceiling above them, sparkles floating around him. A crystal chandelier was hanging at its centerpiece; a classic ornament made from crystals and scraps of automail!

Beside him were Maria Ross and Denny Brosh, who exchanged glances and shrugged.

“Colonel Armstrong,” Maria Ross put out. “How sure are you that Mustang is giving the journal to Edward?”

“As sure as I am standing here,” Armstrong spoke boldly. “Fuery said he wrapped the gift himself while Mustang was watching.”

“That Mustang sure is lazy,” Brosh muttered. “But where do you think the journal is at?”

“Probably where all the wedding gifts are placed,” Maria Ross mumbled back. “Do you have the replacement?”

“Yup, right here.” 

Brosh opened his coat, pulling out a journal in a white gift wrapper. They made Sheska write an actual chemistry of fireworks manual. They all agreed to destroy the journal _for real_ this time, especially with all the rumors spreading.

Armstrong surveyed the venue, twirling his mustache. Everyone was gathered around several round tables. He estimated there were at least 40 people in the venue— quite exclusive. Armstrong could only recognize a few guests, so he assumed most of them were Winry’s. Also, there weren’t any groomsmen. Perhaps this is what happens if one is only acquainted with busy military men.

Armstrong eyed the four ex-militants sharing the same table as them. Darius, Heinkel, Jerso, and Zampano seem to be indulged in a serious topic about whether getting their bodies back or not. From what Armstrong heard, Edward and Alphonse plan on finding a way to revert chimeras to their original state. 

Armstrong shook his head; he shouldn’t be eavesdropping. He then directed his attention to the venue. With its classic color scheme, the place had an ambiance like that of a jewelry store. The tablecloths and ornaments were gold, and the ladies were wearing silver gowns, while the gentlemen wore black coats over silver neckties. 

All of a sudden, the music began, signaling the start of the ceremony. The melody of the instruments danced around the air, pleasing everyone in the venue with[ _The Swan (Le Cygne) by Saint-Saens._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b44-5M4e9nI)

“Those are my sisters!” Armstrong bragged, pointing his finger to the ensemble. Amue Armstrong, the second eldest, was playing the violin, while Strongine Armstrong, the third eldest, was playing the cello. Catherine Armstrong, the youngest, was playing the grand piano.

“If you’re wondering,” Armstrong turned to Brosh and Ross. “Olivier couldn’t play an instrument!”

“You don’t say.” Maria laughed nervously. 

“You learn new things every day,” said Brosh.

“I, on the other hand, play the flute and the tuba!” announced Armstrong.

“Interesting,” Maria commented bluntly. 

“So, where’s your other sister, Armstrong?” asked Brosh. “Wasn’t she invited?”

“Oh, she was,” Armstrong conferred. “She said she had a sudden promotion today.”

Maria Ross mouthed the word ‘wow’. She found the Armstrong family pretty high-strung.

They watched the officiant, Dominic LeCoulte, walk the center aisle. He was Winry’s automail teacher, as what the pamphlet read. Armstrong noted the wedding might be nonreligious, as it was not presided by a preacher. But he found Dominic too gruff to be a wedding officiant. Perhaps they chose him so that the secular ceremony would be taken more seriously. 

Next in line was the groom, Edward Elric. He wore a black coat with a gold necktie, marching down the aisle with a smug look on his face. Trailing behind him was the best man, Alphonse Elric, his silver tie glistening to match his toothy grin. Watching the two brothers beam their best smiles, Armstrong felt tears prickle his eyes. This was indeed a precious moment!

The bridesmaids then parade down the aisle. The maid of honor, Paninya, elegantly strutted in the passageway, her automail legs exposed by the thigh-high slit on her silver serpentine gown. 

Then, the flower girls trotted down the aisle, along with little Elicia Hughes. Everyone in the venue swooned as the children threw rose petals on the floor. Behind them was the ring bearer, who was carefully balancing the golden rings on his hands. He was Dominic’s grandson, the baby that Winry helped deliver. 

Suddenly, the music transitioned to[ _Canon in D by Johann Pachelbel_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SjYecEQFL0U) _—_ it was time for the last pair to walk down the aisle. Winry and Roy were at the farthest end of the passageway, and all eyes were on them. Winry gracefully skidded along the aisle like a swan, her white gown trailing behind her. Its intricate golden patterns matched the bouquet of calla lilies she was holding, whose sweet aroma filled the air. 

Prancing beside her was Roy Mustang, looking suave and debonair in his shiny black coat. With his attire and his hair slicked back, he no longer looked like a military official. Noticing that the attention was on them, he flashed his signature, self-conceited grin— as if Winry were his actual daughter. 

All the while, Ed couldn’t help but savor the moment. He met Winry’s blue eyes, and for the first time, he did not avert his gaze. He did not even bother wiping the tears forming in his eyes. It felt sappy and corny, but Ed didn’t care what his critical mind was telling him. He was finally marrying _Winry Rockbell_ for god’s sake!

Dominic began the ceremony with introductory remarks. He talked about the union of the Sun and the Moon, which seemed as if it came from a lengthy passage or some sort. Armstrong couldn’t tell— he was too distracted by the decorations, the ambiance, and the thought of finally having the two lovebirds together.

Sunset painted the skies orange when Dominic declared the exchanging of vows. 

“We have come to the point of this celebration where you will solemnly swear and offer your life to one another,” Dominic said. “You may now proceed with the Union ritual.”

The couple dipped their hands into a saucer of powdered chalk. Ed then hovered his palms over the stunted pillar in front of them and drew half a circle onto its surface. Winry drew its other half until both of their hands met.

“You may now recite the vows you have written,” Dominic declared. 

“Psst, Winry,” Ed muttered. “Do we really have to?”

Winry pinched his arm. “I spent months writing this script!”

“Fine, fine.”

They both took a deep breath, and read the script together. “I offer you my genuine commitment, acceptance, and benevolence. These are the foundation of an abiding and long-lasting matrimony. No other ties are more tender, no other vows more sacred. I take this today, not because of any religious or civil law, but out of a desire to love and be loved by another person fully, without limitation.”

“Even if it means defying the laws of equivalent exchange,” Ed added. 

Winry’s eyes widened. It wasn’t part of the script.

“You said you’re willing to give me all your life, right?” Ed reckoned. “I’ll give you more than mine then, without expecting anything in return.”

“T-That’s not fair!” Winry cried out. “Are you saying I can’t —”

Ed crashed his lips onto hers, and the entire audience roared an ‘aww’.

Dominic groaned and ripped the script in half. “And he has now kissed the bride.”

Ed broke their kiss, and Winry felt her cheeks heat up. 

“It’s not like you to say something cheesy,” muttered Winry.

Ed shrugged. “Just wanted to change the script to piss you off.”

“Ed!” Winry fumed, her lips pouting. “Don’t be such a brute!”

“There it is,” Ed chuckled and ruffled her hair. Then he suddenly swept Winry off her feet. “I take thee, Winry Rockbell, to be my wife.”

Winry suppressed a smile and followed his lead, “And I take thee, Edward Elric, to be my lawfully-wedded husband!” 

Then she smacked her lips onto Ed’s. 

The crowd cheered on the newly-wedded couple. Armstrong was bursting into tears, and so was the rest of the guests. Pinako chuckled— she knew those two would get married right from the start. Such a shame that Hohenheim was no longer there, or else he owes Pinako (and Trisha Elric) a lot of money. 

The married couple then wore their wedding rings, and Winry noticed its weight on her finger.

“Ed, is this…”

“Real gold?” Ed finished her sentence. “Yeah.”

“Authentic from Youswell?”

“Yeah.” Ed scratched his head. “Guess I’m right.”

“Right?” asked Winry.

“Only the best automail mechanic will notice it right away.”

Winry choked back her tears. “Shut up.”

Ed patted her head and wiped the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I made you cry happy tears this time.”

* * *

Night fell on Resembool, and thousands of stars glittered the pitch-black sky. Despite the cold exterior, the venue glowed warm and incandescent, lit by a makeshift crystal chandelier hung at the center of the ceiling, with several gas lamps and candles on the tables. Dinner at the glass tent was lively and festive; everyone was serenaded by another magnificent piece by the Armstrong sisters ([ _Air on a G-string by Johann Sebastian Bach)_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GMkmQlfOJDk) _._

Rust Valley’s finest cooks and waiters then served the guests with a feast on silver platters.

“Roasted lamb with egg and lemon sauce?” Armstrong gasped. “Such an exquisite selection!”

Brosh eyed the apple pie lustfully. “I think I’ll grab dessert first.”

“Shouldn’t we be replacing the gift right now?” reminded Maria. 

“Oh, right.” Brosh chuckled nervously.

Armstrong stood up. “Let’s go —”

Maria tugged Armstrong’s sleeve cuff. “I think it’s best if Brosh would do it.”

“Why me?”

“Colonel Armstrong and I are too noticeable.”

Brosh nodded, then frowned. “Hey, I’m a head-turner, too!”

Maria Ross laughed. “Carry on now, soldier.”

Armstrong, being the tallest one in the venue, scanned the crowd for any signs of Mustang and Hawkeye. “The Major General is at the front table, farthest to the left. Major Hawkeye is on the same table as Alphonse, farthest to the right.”

“They’re not on the same table?” queried Ross. “That’s funny.”

“That makes them twice as hard to avoid!” complained Brosh. 

Armstrong squinted to where Ed and Winry were at. “The gifts are at the front, near the podium.”

“Now _that_ makes it even harder!” Brosh exclaimed. “That’s literally in front of everyone— especially the Hawk’s Eye!”

Maria Ross placed a hand on her chin. “We just need to wait for the perfect timing.”

Meanwhile, on the podium, Ed and Winry were quarreling about how they should slice the cake. Ed argued Winry was slicing his portion too small, and Winry ended up feeding Ed to shut him up. Ed accidentally pushed the fork back— and the icing smashed on Winry’s face. The two bickered and threw icing at each other until Pinako came in front to reprimand them.

Gracia Hughes laughed at the scene and flashed her camera. The hobby was very akin to her husband, something Maes had passed on to her. No matter how ephemeral time may be, Maes showed it can always be captured with one click.

“Would you want me to take a picture of you and the newlyweds?” a stranger offered. 

Gracia shook her head and pulled Elicia by her side. “I’m sorry, and you are?”

“John Wallace from Central Times,” he exclaimed. 

“A journalist?” Gracia raised an eyebrow. “How did you get in?”

Wallace shrugged. “Major General Mustang invited me.”

“He did now.” Gracia pouted. It wasn’t like Edward and Winry to publicize their wedding, and it wasn’t like Mustang to invite people without their consent. Just what exactly was Mustang up to?

Suddenly, Roy Mustang clinked his champagne glass. “Attention, attention, ladies, and gentlemen!”

All eyes were on him— and his lady friend, Madeline. She was not hard to miss; Madeline was clinging beside him like a lizard, Roy’s hands glued to her waist. Riza Hawkeye almost spilled her wine at the sight. 

“I would like to offer a toast to our newly-wedded couple,” declared Roy.

Winry whispered to Ed, “I thought Al was the first one to give the toast.”

“He demanded that he start the toast,” Ed muttered. _And inviting the journalists, too._ That attention-seeking bastard.

“First, I would like to extend my congratulations to Fullmetal and his bride,” said Roy. “Who would have thought the youngest State Alchemist would get married first than most of us here, huh?” 

The crowd laughed. With everyone distracted, Denny Brosh made his move to the podium.

“In all seriousness, I believe you’re very fortunate, especially being married to your childhood friend,” Roy spoke wistfully. 

“Don’t get too jealous, Roy boy,” purred Madeline.

“Who wouldn’t?” Roy shrugged. “The hero of Amestris is pledging his life to the fair lady of his hometown. It came straight from a novel! Just like this magnificent wedding, wouldn’t you say?”

The audience buzzed in agreement. Brosh halted before he reached the front row tables. Hawkeye was surveying the area, her attention anywhere _but_ Mustang and Madeline.

“It’s a privilege to have someone who knows you like the back of your hand,” Roy went on. “To know they’re there for you, even if you're both far away. To know they’ll support you without having a word to say.” 

“Quite the romantic, aren’t you?” swooned Madeline.

“Not at all, but thank you, my dear,” Roy replied abjectly. Then he faced the newlyweds. “However, deciding to be with one another is just one choice among many. I wish you would choose each other every single day; even in the middle of an argument or when you don’t feel like it. And when the passion has run out, I hope you always choose to reignite it.”

Winry leaned forward from her seat. Something tells her he was speaking from experience.

“But I know you will commit to each other, just as how you are dedicated to your duties and craftsmanship. And so I give you my blessing. A union like this deserves a _grand_ start!” Roy broadcasted. “Cheers to the married couple!”

Suddenly, light skyrocketed from all corners of the glass tent, howling as it ascended. It then exploded into the night sky, popping into flowers of gold, white, red, and the like.

“The famous New Ishval fireworks!” Armstrong goggled in awe. 

Brosh grabbed the opportunity and dashed to the podium. He desperately scavenged the gifts for anything that looked like the journal. Kitchenware, silverware, books, automail parts… it was difficult to search under pressure, let alone read the name tags.

“That sappy bastard!” Ed exclaimed. “So this is what he planned all along?” 

Brosh hid behind the gifts. He never knew he was so close to the celebrants.

“Ed! You’re not supposed to open gifts during the ceremony,” scolded Winry.

“He gave it to me!” Ed roared. “How hard is it to leave the gifts in the gift section?”

Brosh snapped his head towards them. 

Ed now has the journal in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? I'd love to know your thoughts! Kudos, comments, bookmarks, and other means of feedback means the world to me. I'm also open for constructive criticism, I'm always finding ways to improve my writing!
> 
> See you at the next chapter!
> 
> Special thanks to aureshadow for pointing out some dialogue tags back in Chapter 2!


	9. Log 09: The Elrics (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters mentioned so far are canon-based. John Wallace is the only minor character I created (the name Wallace is from a Pokemon Gym Leader LOL) and Winry's clients haha. 
> 
> Shoutout to Music_and_Musing, who said that one of Winry's clients was Violet from Violet Evergarden! The veteran who lost both her arms and sent heartfelt letters! A little easter egg for you guys!
> 
> \+ I might change my username to hanamuri, so I might as well let you guys know! (still internally debating tbh, what do you think?) It's just that I've had meridianheroine since 2014, and I wasn't sure if it still fits me! Which is easier to remember?

**Log 09: The Elrics (Part II)**

“Better late than never!” 

Izumi Curtis kicked the doors open, shattered glass littered the floor. Sig Curtis stood beside her with two dead bears on both of his arms, each twice his size.

“Not a wedding without a feast, _ye_?” Izumi laughed triumphantly. 

Guests from Rush Valley roared in excitement, while the rest of them dropped their jaws.

Shao May shrieked in horror, then fainted. May grabbed her and placed her on her shoulder. “Is this an Amestrian tradition?”

Al opened his mouth to speak, but Paninya answered for him. “In the South, we eat bears on special occasions.”

May gulped. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Me too,” declared Al. 

Al and Paninya had given their toasts for the newlyweds after the fireworks display. Their eyes were still puffy from all the crying— their best friends finally settled down. But this also meant they needed to earn more money to get gifts for their future nieces or nephews.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Riza rose from her seat, then went off. She barely touched her food. 

“Al,” May whispered. “I thought Miss Hawkeye and Mister Mustang had a thing going.”

“Huh?” Al gaped. “What makes you say that?”

“I can sense it in their chi.”

“You could do that?”

“I was kidding.” May giggled. “But the way they look at each other is different, don’t you think?”

Al thought for a moment. “They do seem pretty close.”

“Right?” May said aloud. The bridesmaids from their table gave them strange looks, then May lowered her voice. “Do you wanna know what happened during The Promised Day?”

“Of course!” Al spoke a little too abruptly. He wanted to know _everything_ that happened on that day. After all, he was unconscious for most of it.

“You see,” May began. “We came into the scene with Miss Hawkeye being held hostage. They were forcing Mister Mustang to do human transmutation! And he was _so_ tempted! When she saw us from above, Mister Mustang immediately understood what her gaze meant. And just like that, he didn’t do what the enemies wanted him to!”

“Wow,” Al breathed. “It’s like they have Elric telepathy.”

May nodded, even though she had no idea what that meant. “After that, I rushed to them and healed Miss Hawkeye. Then Mister Mustang clutched her into his arms! It was so tight I had to remind him her wound was still fresh.” 

“Oh! I never knew they were _that_ close,” Al remarked, then paused. “I think I remember something.”

“What is it?” asked May, cocking her head.

“When we thought Mustang was dead, Miss Hawkeye got on her knees and... cried,” narrated Al. “I never saw her so hopeless before. She was willing to give up her life, and I just couldn’t let that happen. Thankfully, Mustang barged in and saved the day.”

“And?”

Al thought for a while. “And Mustang was worried about her even though he was the one seriously injured.”

“Putting her first before himself!” Little hearts floated around May. “Isn’t it romantic?”

“Yeah, I guess,” conferred Al. “But Mustang only calls her his subordinate, and I never hear them say each other’s names. Plus, Hawkeye seemed annoyed by him most of the time.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They act so differently at work!”

“Definitely,” acknowledged Al. “And Mustang has a date with him tonight.”

“That makes it twice as interesting!” May exclaimed. “It’s their way of hiding their intimate relations! A love forbidden within the bounds of the military —”

Al shushed her, then gestured his thumb to several journalists by the podium. “If you’re right, we better not let _them_ hear you.”

* * *

John Wallace was busy taking photos of the wedding. He had just taken a shot of Mustang and Madeline. He found it odd that Mustang had a lady beside him _during_ his speech— it was rather unnecessary. Perhaps his reputation precedes him; he truly is a womanizer. 

Wallace then dashed towards the exit. He needed someplace dark for the photos to develop. His eyes scanned the field, then decided he would go North of the venue: the only place without glass walls. 

As he got there, a hand suddenly muffled his mouth.

Riza Hawkeye dragged him towards the shadows, and the man cried out in protest, “Help—”

“Shh!” Riza hissed. She pushed him against the cemented wall and drew a gun from her thigh holster. Wallace heard the gun click and gulped. He couldn’t see who abducted him, but all he knew was that it was a woman.

“You’re another one from the press?” asked Riza.

“Y-yes Ma'am!”

“I have several questions for you.” Riza darted her eyes on his name tag. _Central Times_.

Wallace stammered. “I-Is this even legal?”

“Isn’t what you’re doing illegal?”

“M-Mustang invited me—”

“And so do the rest of the journalists here.” Riza spat. “What do you know about the Major General’s fraternization?”

“If you mean the rumors,” he stuttered. “ _Central Times_ has never published any of those, especially it hasn’t been proven yet—”

“So you do know about it.” 

“A-Ask the tabloids instead —”

“Why would I?” Riza leaned closer and whispered. “I’m already talking to a journalist from the most prestigious newspaper in the country. You _do_ know the source of every single news item in Amestris, am I correct?”

Wallace bobbed his head. He wasn’t certain if he was terrified or aroused by the woman before him. Perhaps both.

“Good.” Riza stepped back. “Tell me what you know about the source.”

“There isn’t a single source!” said Wallace. “Witnesses and news came from everywhere.”

_Posing a claim to get more evidence?_ Riza thought. It was some kind of propaganda technique. Or a political strategy. 

“Any clue on who started it?” probed Riza.

“N-no idea —”

She pressed the gun on his chin. “Nothing?” 

“It came from the East!”

“Stating the obvious.”

“I heard they were bribed!” Wallace said, trembling. “They were given specific instructions on where the two officers are usually located. So it must be an inside job.”

She knew it. 

Riza loosened her grip on her revolver. Then she released Wallace from her grasp. “Thank you.”

Wallace breathed deeply, pools of sweat formed on his shirt. “S-so has Mustang engaged in fraternization with —”

“No.” Riza snapped. “Go ahead and publish them if you want to be imprisoned for libel.”

Wallace grimaced, but before he could defend himself, he heard a swish of silk. 

“Now, if you excuse me, I have better things to attend to.”

And the woman was gone.

* * *

Madeline patted her cheeks with a table napkin. “You better pay me double this time.”

“Of course,” Roy acknowledged. “Just as before.”

“That was when I gave you information from the North,” Madeline pointed out. “This is different.”

“I’ll make it triple, then.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to do this.”

“Yet here you are,” said Roy, smirking.

Madeline scoffed, to which Roy chuckled. Women can be very entertaining to talk to and they don’t even need to try. 

Roy took a sip from his glass of champagne. Ishval duties, rumors spreading, threats for court-martial— everything is _fine_ . His eyes then darted to the table farthest from theirs, watching Riza Hawkeye return to her seat. Roy drew a satisfied grin on his face. He reckoned she had a word with the journalists and scared them away. Just as they planned. 

“How long are we putting on this act?” asked Madeline.

“Until I disprove the rumors,” Roy replied, eyes still on Riza.

Madeline pouted. “There’s some truth in those rumors. And you know it.”

“Truth is elusive,” drawled Roy. “Trust me, I’ve been there. Literally.”

Madeline wrinkled her nose. “How does Elizabeth deal with you?”

“What can I say,” Roy said, slacking his jaw. “She loves high-maintenance.”

Before Madeline could retort, Ed was chinking his glass. 

“Uh, attention please.” 

The glass broke into pieces, and Winry laughed at him as he muttered curses under his breath.

After regaining his composure, Ed cleared his throat. “I, uh. I would just like to thank everyone for coming here. Winry and I appreciate it greatly, more than you guys could ever know. Uh, I’d like to extend my special thanks to my brother, Al, for helping us plan this event. To Paninya for coordinating tons of people together. To the hot-headed bastard, Flame, for the fireworks display. To Izumi and Sig, for the bears. To the Armstrongs, for the music. To the old hag, Pinako, for her patience.”

Ed glanced at Winry, who nodded in return, telling him he’s doing great (except for the name-calling but she’ll reprimand him later). 

“But I would just like to thank one person. Without them, none of this would ever happen.” Ed said, eyes misty. “To Miss Riza Hawkeye.”

Everyone drew their attention to Riza, her eyes as wide as everyone else.

“She, uh.” Ed scratched the nape of his neck. “A few years back, I told her what I felt after seeing Winry break down in tears. She said it was normal to feel that way, ‘cause I only wanted to protect Winry. And, uh,” Ed paused for a moment, hesitating. “She told me it’s because I love Winry.”

The venue rumbled as the crowd applauded, touched by Ed’s message. Meanwhile, Winry’s mind was stirring, connecting all the dots. 

_Riza saw protection as love?_ Winry thought. _Does this mean she joined the military for… love?_

“Without further ado,” Ed cut Winry’s thoughts, offering his hand. “Can I have this dance?”

* * *

The moon soared bright in that hour of the night, drenching the venue with its fluorescent radiance. The waiters blew off the gas lamps and candles on the tables. They turned off the makeshift chandelier, which now reflected droplets of moonlight, dancing around the place as if the air swirled. The venue glowed exactly how winter should look like: white and blue.

“For those with two left feet,” Izumi announced. “Join us outside for a bonfire! We shall devour the two beasts like Vikings! ”

The southerners applauded, and the crowd slowly dispersed. The remaining guests waltzed to [ _The Blue Danube Waltz by Johann Straus._ ](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Dt88b1TOFxU)

“Brosh,” Maria Ross whispered. “Have you replaced the gift?”

Denny Brosh had his eyes on his feet. They were doing the basic box step. With her heels, Maria Ross was much taller than he is.

“Brosh!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“The journal?” Maria raised her voice.

“Oh.” Brosh gulped. “Ed had it with him all along.”

Maria frowned. “Mustang and his clever ways.”

“I think we should do Plan C,” suggested Brosh.

“Whatever happened to Plan B?” 

“Plan A was to get it from Mustang. Plan B was to replace it, and Plan C —”

“Oh, right,” Maria interjected. “So now we’ll have to ask Ed to destroy it?”

“Yup,” said Brosh. “I’m going to give you to Armstrong now.”

“Huh?”

Brosh chuckled as he gave her a spin. “You’re both more noticeable!” 

Armstrong caught Maria and led her to a cross step. “Miss Maria you seem flustered.” 

“We need to get to Plan C,” Maria mumbled, raking her fingers through her hair. 

“That is noted,” acknowledged Armstrong. “However, Edward seems to be enjoying himself.” 

Maria eyed Ed and Winry, who were engaging in banter while dancing. Winry seemed to be teaching him how to dance. It would be a shame to intrude on their moment. 

“What now?” asked Maria.

“You could ask Alphonse.”

“Good idea.” 

“I’ll confront Miss Hawkeye.”

“Good— what?”

Armstrong spun Maria to the next guest, Garfiel. They flooded Maria with compliments before Maria could tell them her objective.

Meanwhile, Armstrong searched the venue for any sign of Hawkeye. Surprisingly, she wasn’t at their table. Either she went to the bonfire or—

He gawked. She was _waltzing_ on the dance floor.

“You're a fast learner,” Riza remarked, leading Paninya in box steps. 

“Thanks, I guess.” Paninya bit her lip. How was it that Riza wasn’t scared of getting stepped on by metal feet?

“Pardon me,” Armstrong interrupted. “May I borrow Miss Hawkeye for a moment?”

“No problem,” Paninya chimed in.

Riza turned to her. “Are you sure?” 

“I’ll be fine.” Paninya smiled, eyes on her feet. “After all, someone finally had the patience to teach me.”

Riza regarded her with a bow, then Armstrong took her by the hand. If Riza didn’t have the strength of a soldier, Armstrong would have flung her to the side.

“I’m surprised to know you dance well, Miss Riza,” commented Armstrong.

“I’m surprised you‘re not aware,” Riza responded frankly. “It was a military requirement for cadets.”

“I see.”

Armstrong then led her to a natural spin turn. Riza glanced to Paninya, who was now dancing with Denny Brosh. They both seemed to be dancing at the same pace.

As Armstrong pulled her back, Riza spoke, “But I don’t suppose you approached me just to comment on my dancing.”

“I’m afraid not,” Armstrong admitted. “About the journal—”

“Are you referring to the one created for propaganda?” Riza asked. 

Armstrong blinked. “Yes.”

“What about it?”

“Mustang has given it to Edward as a gift,” Armstrong went on. “Don’t you think it’s best we retrieve it?”

Riza pursed her lips. “I believe there’s no need.”

“So you allowed it?”

Riza paused. “Is there something wrong?”

“It is military property,” said Armstrong, staring down at her with a serious expression written on his face.

Riza knitted her brows, unaffected by his facial threat. “With all due respect, I was told it was the Führer’s personal request.” 

“And what right do we have to give it as a gift?” 

“Colonel Armstrong, I understand your concern.” Riza set her jaw. “However, I was told that a newer version was created since the first one was allegedly _coded_ for some information.”

Armstrong gulped, almost cowering down.

“For that reason, Rebecca told me the Führer wanted to get rid of it,” Riza proceeded. “Besides, the Major General was able to learn its technique. Passing it to someone outside the military was the only means feasible, and getting rid of it would be a waste of effort. Unless the _coders_ themselves request it.”

Armstrong’s muscles tensed. _Clever girl._ Then he cleared his throat. “If it was originally planned to be destroyed, I think it’s best we follow suit. Regardless of the efforts of the _coders_.”

Riza thought for a moment, then she nodded. “Thank you, that’s all I needed to know.”

Armstrong froze. It seemed that Riza _knew_ it was them— and he confirmed it. Nevertheless, he was relieved they were finally on the same page. “Shall we proceed to Edward?”

“Agreed.”

Armstrong led her to a reverse turn, and Riza scanned the crowd for Edward. Yet her gaze drifted to Mustang and Madeline, who were waltzing across the opposite end of the dance floor. Although it was her idea to bring along a date, Riza never thought they would be _too_ conspicuous that night.

“Roy,” Madeline mumbled. “Could you send me to the next man?”

“Tired of me too soon?” jeered Roy.

“I’m already tired of you, to begin with,” Madeline retorted. “The Hawk’s eye is on us.”

Roy caught Riza’s gaze, who averted it immediately. He smirked, amused. “We could even give her a show.”

“No thank you,” spat Madeline. “You wouldn’t want a bullet on your decoy.”

“She wouldn’t want that too.”

“Oh, but with the way she glares, I think she does.”

Roy chuckled and gave her a twirl. “I’ll drop you in the shop later.”

“If you can find me by then,” cried Madeline as she accepted another man’s hand.

Roy then received Maria Ross. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” greeted Roy.

Maria bowed slightly. “Nice to speak to you alone without the threat of being killed.”

“You and I both,” huffed Roy.

Roy took her to a natural turn. His eyes were far into the crowd, checking if Riza’s attention was still on him. Realizing she was out of sight, he clicked his tongue.

“Mister Mustang,” Maria broke the silence. “Thank you for saving me back then.”

“No _problemo_ ,” said Roy. “Consider the debt paid after you joined the coup d'etat.”

Maria smiled, bending her head. “Can I ask a favor, then?”

“Anything.”

“Could you take me to Alphonse?”

“Oh. I wonder why women don’t last that long with me tonight,” Roy chuckled. Then he regarded her request with a small nod. “Consider it done.”

Before they could move further into the crowd, something suddenly flew right into Roy’s face.

“Shao May!” shrieked May, trotting towards them. 

Roy pulled the panda from his face. 

“Ah, Mister Mustang!” May gasped. “I’m so sorry, Al must have spun me around so fast.”

Roy gave a mirthless laugh. “It happens all the time.” Except that it only happened twice. 

He eyed the little Xingese girl closely and finally recognized her. “You’re the one who saved my adjutant! I am in your debt.”

“Oh! It’s nothing.” May waved her hand dismissively, with a cheeky smile on her lips. “I’m glad you remembered me!”

“May!” Al came running towards them.

“Well, what do you know,” Roy turned to Maria, cocking his head towards Al’s direction.

“Alphonse!” Maria exclaimed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Al froze. “You have?”

“Yes! I need to tell you something.” Maria then turned to May. “Mind if I have a word with him, young lady?”

“I can’t see why not,” beamed May. She looked at Shao May, who was still clutching to Roy’s hand. “She seems to like you.”

“Finally, someone wanted to stay with me,” Roy sneered, then offered his hand to May. “Shall we?”

Meanwhile, Maria and Al exchanged compliments, then Maria explained the mishap to him. 

“So let me get this straight,” Al mused. “We have to get Mustang’s gift from my brother?”

“Yup.”

“And since it could be used against Mustang and Hawkeye, we have to destroy it?

“Exactly.”

Al thought for a moment. “What if it’s not with my brother?”

“What do you mean?” asked Maria, her brows furrowing.

“He probably left it at the front table before dancing,” said Al.

“Oh!” Maria almost jolted. “Good point!” 

“Plus,” Al added, scanning the room. “I don’t see him anywhere though.”

“Where else might he be?”

“Maybe they’re at the bonfire,” Al pondered. “I think he gave up on dancing.”

“Or Miss Winry got tired of teaching,” Maria pointed out, chuckling.

Al burst into laughter. “There you have it!”

“So I’ll check the podium,” Maria declared. 

“And I’ll check my brother!”

“Now then,” Maria said, soothing her loose strands of hair. “Could you take me to Colonel Armstrong?”

“Will do,” replied Al quickly. “I’ll take May with me then.”

They eyed Mustang and Armstrong, who seemed to be watching them the entire time. They gave them their signals, and the three pairs exchanged partners.

Riza Hawkeye was now in front of Roy Mustang.

“Major.” Roy greeted her with a modest bow.

Riza curtsied in response. “Major General.”

“So our paths cross again,” derided Roy.

“Unfortunately.”

Roy smirked. “Have you found every fly on the wall?”

“I blew them all away,” said Riza. “Lured them outside like moths to a flame.”

_So the journalists are at the bonfire._ Roy thought.

They were in the middle of the room, surrounded by guests waltzing in pairs. They were the only ones who stood still. And so has time.

Roy tried his best not to stare at Riza too much. With her silver gown glowing white, it was as if a star descended right in front of him. Tousled blonde strands curtained her face, yet her soft gaze pierced right through them. Her amber eyes glistened like jewels, beckoning him to come closer. The vision was so pristine that she almost looked inhuman, a goddess untouched by any form of corruption. Any man who dares to approach her would be foolish. And such is a man like Roy Mustang. 

“Care to dance?” He extended his hand.

Riza gave it a quick glance. “If you can keep up with me.”

“I can take on a challenge.” Roy gave her a tight-lipped smile. “After all, I’m the one who taught you.”

Riza rolled her eyes, hiding away her smile. Then she took his hand.

The music slowly transitioned to the [_Grande Valse Villageoise from Tchaikovsky's “Sleeping Beauty”._](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=y69UG3K4zyA) _(Lyrics[here](https://genius.com/Lana-del-rey-once-upon-a-dream-lyrics) for extra scene-setting)_

His hand fit hers like that of gloves, and the touch was enough to keep her entire body warm. They glided across the floor, heels clicking against the makeshift wood. Every step was coordinated, every movement precise. They danced in fluid motion as if the moment was a reprise.

In a fraction of a second, Riza could smell the rustic, damp air of her Father’s attic. Nostalgia suddenly washed over her senses, and she felt like 21 again.

> _“You failed in social dance?” Roy sputtered as he gave her a spin._
> 
> _“It’s not like you’d need it in war,” muttered Riza._
> 
> _“Yes, but,” Roy paused. “It’s a life skill!”_
> 
> _“It’s a social construct.”_
> 
> _Roy pulled her by her waist. “Can you at least admit you’re having fun?”_
> 
> _Riza tensed. She did not have it in her to protest against their proximity. The familiar sandalwood scent filled her senses, and she found herself leaning towards him._
> 
> _“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Roy._
> 
> _“Do you always talk this much?” Riza quipped._
> 
> _Roy chuckled and led her to a cross step. The Hawkeye residence was filled with the tapping of their boots over the wooden floor. They danced in silence, to the music only they could hear. Riza couldn’t count all the times she stepped on his toes, but Roy doesn’t seem to mind. He was focused on the way her short hair bounced with her every move, the way her lips pursed whenever she made a mistake, the way her eyes lit up whenever she made a turn correctly._

They waltzed the way they did in the past, perhaps even better. Each step pulled them closer, and Riza swore she could feel her heart jolting to the same beat as his. It was the rhythm that drew them together, creating ripples of melodies within their bodies. Like music transposed, she felt light on her toes. Riza had forgotten how free it must have been to indulge in his touch. They were dancing in each other's arms without restraint— it was as if they were floating in a dream. She then met his gaze, his onyx eyes shining a familiar gleam. 

At her signal, Roy dipped her down. Riza could feel his firm grip on the small of her back, his warmth against her hip, his breath on her lips— all daring her to close the thin gap between them. With their faces inches apart, the scene was nothing new to her, and Riza could tell just how it would end. Only this time, she averted her gaze, and Roy pulled her back up. 

Suddenly, everything felt heavy.

“I—” Roy stammered. “I apologize.”

Riza gave him a wistful smile. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Both of them stood still amidst the crowd, eyes screaming the words they’re both afraid to say aloud. Suddenly, Riza saw a faint glimmer of orange in his black eyes.

_Is that—_

“Wildfire!” Someone slammed the door open. 

Riza snapped her head outside— the grass was burning. 

On the podium, Maria dropped the gifts from her hands. “It must have come from the bonfire.”

“Go check Ed and the rest outside,” commanded Armstrong. 

Fissures started to crack across the glass wall— it was about to break at any moment. Armstrong gulped down his panic, and yelled to the crowd, “Everyone stand back!”

Roy was eyeing the glass wall when he shrugged off his coat, then turned to Riza. “Wait here while I—”

Riza blocked him with her arm. “You can’t fight fire with fire.”

“I won’t,” Roy cast her arm aside. “I’m still an alchemist, remember?”

Riza shot him a glare. “How about the last time you tried to extinguish fire?” 

“Well, I can’t just stand here!” Roy exclaimed. “Now if you excuse me for a moment.” He quickly stormed his way West of the venue.

“I’ll shoot you dead if you fail!” Riza called out to him, leading several guests away from the wall.

“Permission granted!” Roy yelled without looking back. He stopped a few feet from the glass wall, clapped, and dug his hands on the floor. Roy held his breath; he hoped it wouldn’t kill him before Hawkeye would. Suddenly, the floor rose from the ground. Roy almost jumped with the thrill— he finally did it right.

Armstrong came forth and punched his fists on the newly-erected wall, its earthy loam hardening into metal. 

“You have my thanks, Armstrong,” Roy said, wiping the sweat rolling down his forehead.

Armstrong puffed out his chest. “All for the Elrics.” 

* * *

By the exit, Maria nearly tripped on her heels from all the running. “Damn it!” She took them off and threw them aside. Before she could sprint, Brosh helped her stand up. 

“Found the journal?” Brosh asked, now running beside her.

“Does that really matter now?” Maria said, panting. “But, no, I haven’t.”

When the pair dashed outside, they were greeted by skin-prickling heat and clouds of smoke. Maria crouched to the ground, sucking in whatever’s left of fresh air. Just then, drops of water splattered on them.

“It’s raining?” Brosh said, bewilderment evident in his voice.

Maria pointed her finger way ahead. “There they are!”

Some sort of land formation had sprung from the ground, tilted at a drowsy angle. Bricks protruded from its sides, indicating it used to be a water well. The grass field was muddy, with several patches of blaze here and there. At the heart of the chaos, Izumi was scolding Ed, with Winry beside him. She was holding the journal.

“What on Earth were you thinking?” Izumi struck a finger on Ed’s chest. “Committing arson on your own wedding?”

“It was an accident!” Ed exclaimed. Then he pointed at Winry. “She started it.”

“Me?” Winry whined. “This wouldn’t have happened if you just stayed put.”

“You threw a wedge on the firewood!” 

“Only because you were about to burn gifts!” Winry held the journal up high.

Maria and Brosh exchanged looks, then decided they won’t interrupt the married couple’s argument. 

At some distance away, the rest of the guests were huddled on a new bonfire site, eating roasted bear meat as if no wildfire had spread. Sig Curtis was among them, peacefully crunching bearskin by the firewood. Or at least, whatever’s left of it. Beside him were the four chimeras, on the ground with their bloated stomachs exposed. 

Maria and Brosh dashed towards the site, checking for any casualty. May was healing scratches and burns of several guests, while Al destroyed the firewall he created.

“Al!” Maria caught up with Al, short of breath. “Have you talked to Ed?”

“I never got to.” Al sighed. 

Maria and Brosh widened their eyes.

“But he tried to burn the journal!” exclaimed Brosh.

“Really?” Al creased his forehead. “The wildfire had begun to spread when we got here.”

Meanwhile, at the burnt area, Izumi reprimanded the married couple for passing the blame on one another instead of fixing it together. She had _ordered_ them to talk it out.

“Look, Winry,” Ed sighed before proceeding. “I didn’t mean for it to get to this point—”

“But it did.” Winry crossed her arms.

“Let me finish, will ya?” complained Ed. 

Winry nodded, and so he continued. “I mean, you planned it to be perfect, and I know you hate it when your plans get ruined. Then a lot of things happened— changing the escort, publicizing the wedding, improvising the script, and now this wildfire.”

Ed then held Winry’s hands, his gaze downcast. “I’ve let you down again.”

Winry stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. “What’s with all the drama?”

Ed’s face turned red. “I-I’m serious, Winry!”

“Is this about the ‘not having an alchemy’ thing again?” sneered Winry. 

“N-no, of course not.”

Winry laughed. “Ed, I never chose you because you’re an alchemist. I chose you for you.”

Ed stammered, yet no words came out. 

Winry went on, “You’re right. I think I got too high-strung about our wedding. I guess it’s time we cut some slack.”

Ed narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you calling it a night?”

“Hmm.” Winry pursed her lips, looking around her. The place was a mess— there were mud and rubble on their formal attire, a few tiny flames here and there. The venue no longer had its door and West wall, with glass shards scattered everywhere. Under normal circumstances, Winry would have freaked out. This wasn’t what she had imagined at all. But seeing all their guests with satisfied grins on their faces, Winry realized the main objective was still met. She was married to the man she chose, and everyone celebrated with them. 

Perhaps it’s alright not to get everything she wanted.

“Alright,” Winry sighed. “Let’s call it a night.”

Izumi clapped both their backs. “You’re quite the couple, huh. And it’s only a few hours after your marriage.”

Ed pushed her hand away. “You’re one to talk. Who the hell brings dead bears on a wedding and toasts them on the spot?”

Izumi laughed haughtily, then patted Winry’s shoulder. “Take care of him, hm?”

“He’s in good hands,” Winry beamed. She can’t wait to hit him with her wedge after all this.

“So that’s settled.” Izumi then waved to the guests at the bonfire. “The wedding’s over! Time to pack up!” The guests groaned and chowed down the bear meat faster.

“I’ll go tell the rest,” Izumi said, placing her fists on her hips. Ed muttered his thanks, then Izumi shot him a glare. “ _You_ fix this mess.”

Ed winced as he saw the land formations. “But you made—”

“No buts!” Izumi commanded, her voice firm. Ed gulped and nodded. He watched Izumi dash towards the venue, waving back at him. “Good luck cleaning without alchemy!”

“Aha, right.” Ed gave a scornful laugh, kicking dust on his feet. He knew it was his choice to give up alchemy, but he never knew it would take him _years_ to adjust to life without it.

Winry chuckled and held his hand. “We could ask Al for help.”

“Yeah, that’s probably the best.” Ed squeezed her hand and started marching onwards.

They walked through the muddy field, hands held together with their wedding rings gleaming under the moonlight. It was quite a day, but Winry was glad they were officially married. She eyed the journal on her other hand— to think the fire all happened because of it.

“Seriously, burning this?” Winry showed him the journal. “I thought you’d be more mature. Do you hate Mustang that much?”

“I’m not doing this for him,” Ed replied bluntly. “I’m doing this for Hawkeye.”

Winry narrowed her eyes at him, then at the journal. _The Chemistry of Fireworks._ As she silently read its title, the previous events flashed before her; Mustang’s speech, Ed’s speech, her conversations with Riza… it all made sense.

Ed noticed her pensive expression. “There were rumors about them.”

“Rumors?” Winry lifted her gaze.

“Accusing them of having an affair,” Ed said, eyes straight ahead. “Don’t know if it’s true, but if proven, I’m sure it’s enough to kick them both out of their jobs.”

“And burning this would help because..?” 

“It’ll destroy any written evidence,” Ed said promptly. “Whoever coded this must be a genius, but anyone would know it’s about _them_ without even reading it.”

Winry paused. “Assuming that’s true, why would Mustang give it to you if he wanted to destroy it?”

“Probably to keep his filthy hands clean,” Ed smirked. “That bastard never gives anything without expecting something in return.”

Winry pursed her lips. “Does that explain him being my escort and the journalists?”

Ed nodded. “But don’t worry, all the journalists were here during the wildfire. The heat will make some of their photos fade.”

Winry gaped at him. Ed may have his dull moments, but he’s still a genius. 

After walking a few acres, they approached the guests at the bonfire. Sig Curtis was tossing bones and scrap meat into the flames, while others thanked the couple for inviting them and bidding them farewell. Winry was busy accommodating her guests when Brosh and Maria ran up to Ed.

“Ed!” They both called out to him.

“Oh, it’s you guys,” said Ed, waving. “Have you seen Al?”

Just then, Al walked towards them, with May trotting behind him. “Brother! I finally caught up with you.”

“There you are,” Ed dug his hands in his pockets. “I might need some help with fixing all this mess.”

“Okay, but,” Al paused. “Could that wait after we tell you something?”

May added, “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Ed took a step back. “What for?”

“You got to destroy Mustang’s gift _now_ ,” Brosh muttered quickly. They finally said it.

Ed’s mouth agape, then pointed his finger at them. “So _you’re_ the one who wrote the journal!”

“No, we didn’t!” defended Brosh.

Maria lowered her gaze. “But we were a part of it.”

Ed turned to Al and May. “And _you_ too?”

“We’re new recruits!” Al sputtered.

May blinked. “So you already know about it, Mister Edward?”

“It’s obvious!” exclaimed Ed, clapping his head. “If word gets out, you could have gotten them fired!”

Maria straightened her back. “And that’s why we should get rid of it.”

“And don’t worry,” Brosh pulled out the replacement gift, “We have a _legitimate_ manual for making fireworks right here.”

Ed cocked his hips, then considered their offer. “Deal.”

“So where is it?” Maria asked.

Ed glanced towards the bonfire. “It’s with Win— Winry what are you—”

Winry was holding the journal over the bonfire. Suddenly, she threw it into the flames. All five jaws dropped, eyes wide as they watched the binder cripple from afar. Then they ran towards her. 

“Winry!” Ed grabbed her by the shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” hummed Winry.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to do it!” Ed growled.

“At least it’s over and done with!” Winry spat.

The couple engaged in another banter. Behind them, Maria whispered aloud. “How’d she know?”

“Beats me,” muttered Brosh.

Al raised his shoulders. “Elric telepathy?”

Meanwhile, May dashed between Ed and Winry, hands pushing them away. “Stop bickering! And put that wedge down. You might start a wildfire again.”

The couple did as they were told, shutting their mouths.

“Good.” May nodded. “Mister Brosh, give the compensatory gift to them right now.”

“It’s not—”

“Do it!”

“Y-yes Ma'am!” Brosh handed over the fireworks manual to Ed. 

May placed her hands on her hips. “I _walked_ from Xing to this country, but I only got tired of hearing you two fight!” As she spoke, Shao May was mimicking her gestures, who almost fell from her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry we were inconsiderate,” Winry said, sincerity evident in her eyes.

“Yeah, we got a little carried away.” Ed hovered his palm over May’s head. “Who knew this midget could be a peacemaker—”

“Stop calling me ‘midget’!” May slapped Ed’s hand down. Then she perked up. “Now, before you fight again, let me give you our gift!”

She pulled out something from her purse— it was some sort of ticket in gold foil. “Courtesy of Emperor Ling!”

Ed squinted at it. “Why the hell does it have Ling’s face on it?”

“It’s the Emperor’s sigil,” explained May. “When you visit Xing, you’ll have a few percent off in almost all purchases.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Ed exclaimed, grabbing the sigil. 

May smiled at them. “They’re usually given to people who saved the emperor or to patrons.”

“So which one are we?” asked Winry.

“Who knows!” May laughed. “But I don’t recommend going to Xing for now. Maybe after the crisis is over.”

Winry beamed at her. “This is much appreciated, May.”

May smiled back, then her expression turned serious. “Sorry I got mad earlier. It’s just that Shao May and I need to leave tomorrow, and I wanted to spend the most out of my time with you all.” 

“Aw, May.” Winry hugged the little Xingese girl. “You could always stay here for as long as you’d like.”

“But that means I’ll have to process papers.” May frowned. Apparently, it was illegal to visit Amestris without permission from Central. 

Ed belched out into laughter. “ _That’s_ your only reason?”

Winry glared at him, then turned to May. “What he meant to say is that we could help you. Feel free to stay over at our place.”

Al nodded. “Then we’ll go back to Xing together!”

May grinned at them, eyes twinkling. Then she bowed down. “Thank you so much!” 

Ed turned to Maria and Brosh, who were engaging in idle chatter by the bonfire. They seemed to be nostalgic over the burnt journal. 

“Oy. How’d we get the foreigners’ pass— or whatever it’s called?”

“Oh, tourist documents?” Maria replied, a bit startled. “It might take a while since the Führer is in Xing.” 

“In Xing?” shrieked May.

“Yes, for global amendments,” clarified Maria. “He’s been there for months now.”

“Actually, I think they have elected an acting-Führer today,” Brosh supplied. “So working on the papers will be a breeze.”

Ed worked his jaw. “So who’s the acting-Führer?” **  
**

* * *

“Yes, that would be me.” Olivier Mira Armstrong crossed her legs, arms resting on the Führer’s throne.

Rebecca Catalina held her salute. “Colonel Miles has arrived from New Ishval, Sir.”

Olivier rose from her seat. “Let him in.” 

Rebecca left the room as soon as Colonel Miles entered. He strutted across the room, taking off his black sunglasses. “You wished to see me, Sir?”

“I need your expertise,” Olivier said bluntly without even batting her eyelashes. She walked towards the massive world map hung on the wall. “Führer Grumman has left us in charge of our relations with neighboring countries, while he is expanding our ties with Xing and the rest of the world as we speak.”

Miles nodded. “What sort of diplomatic strategy should we be needing?”

Olivier spun around to face him, her long blonde hair whipping back. “I have begun negotiating with Creta and Aerugo. Fortunately, they were willing to hold a ceasefire and discuss peace treaties.”

Miles eyed the map pensively. “What about Drachma?”

“What _about_ Drachma?” scoffed Olivier. “What would you expect? We both know they do not give in to peaceful negotiations that easily. Never once had.”

Miles set his jaw. “Thus the war in the North continues?”

“As expected,” said Olivier, eyes twitching. “Not to mention we face the threat of The Great War and an unknown illness spreading beyond our borders.”

“That may be so, but it is commendable that you have offered peace treaties and implemented strict protocols, Sir,” complimented Miles. “It is an honor to stand before the next Führer.”

“Don’t flatter me, Miles.” Olivier shot him a glare. “We’re still losing dozens of men.”

Miles heaved out a sigh. “Shall I deploy reinforcements from the East when such a time comes?” 

Olivier smirked. “It’s like you’ve read my mind. How long until the Ishval restoration ends?”

“We still have four more years, Sir.”

“Hmm.” Olivier thought for a moment. “That would suffice. If Drachma still does not agree with negotiations, I would have to pluck out several men from your unit.”

“That is noted. But there’s no need to be guilty of asking for help, Sir,” Miles said, his voice firm. “It would be just as how we deployed our men for the Ishval Civil War.”

“Equivalent exchange, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Olivier sashayed back to her desk. “Reserve Havoc and Hawkeye for deployment while you’re at it. Those two were the only ones who have excelled consistently in our past exhibitions.” 

“Already part of my list, Sir.” 

“Good.” Olivier rested her chin on her hands. “Have you figured out _why_ they still choose Mustang?” Her nose wrinkled at the name. She always had her eyes set on the two military officers, offering the best incentives to lure them into working with her. 

Yet they still chose that _idiotic fool._

Miles pulled out his little notebook from his pocket. “Havoc seemed to be indebted to Mustang for saving his life and curing his paralysis.”

“That is non-negotiable.”

“On the other hand, I could not seem to find any special benefits for Hawkeye, except that they both served the military during the Ishval War.” Miles flipped the pages, searching for more notes. “However, there are speculations from non-credible sources.”

Olivier arched her eyebrow. “Which are?”

“They are romantically involved.”

The Ice Queen burst in laughter. “It’s as if to say you and I are involved in an affair.”

Miles cleared his throat. “Except that neither of them is married.”

“And where does such news come from?”

“Multiple witnesses. It is believed that information is being exchanged for money.”

Olivier regained her composure. “Keep a watchful eye on them.”

“That would mean—”

“That would mean to find the source of _bribing_ in the military.” Olivier eyed her fingernails. “I do not wish to tolerate any form of corruption as long as I’m standing here,” she snarled.

The richest heiress in the country was leading a gang of corrupt officials? That won’t do. It would be a disgrace to her family name if corruption grew rampant during her term, especially that she's next-in-line to be Führer.

“Yes, Sir.” Miles stomped his feet as he swung his arm in salute.

“Meeting adjourned.”

Olivier watched Miles step out of her office. Then she peered through the large windows behind her, watching several military officials chatting casually at the Central Headquarters Park. 

Hawkeye being accused of Fraternization? Olivier scoffed. That’s negotiable. Women in the military deserve more than just being someone’s adjutant, especially if their superior is an incompetent, self-conceited man such as Mustang _._ Olivier rolled her eyes at the thought. Hawkeye’s skills needed to be honed, and being a subordinate is counterproductive. 

She was never meant to be _Mustang’s pet_ — she’s a Hawk. 

And she’s willingly clipping her own wings. 

Olivier grunted. Hawkeye deserved more than being underneath Mustang— be it in business or on the mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olivier Mira Armstrong supremacy! 
> 
> How did you find this chapter? As usual, kudos, comments, bookmarks or other forms of feedback always make my day! I'm so excited for the next chapter aaa Olivier can step on me!
> 
> I always imagined Oliver and Roy's rivalry started when Olivier wanted to get Hawkeye and Havoc to Briggs. Olivier did see them as 'valuable' in the Mangahood. And I notice Miles carry a little notebook with him it's so cute!
> 
> See you in a month or so! Please do note that the time skips will be wider in the next chapters! 💗 I’ll only be including major events that include royai
> 
> You could get up-to-date with me through my [Tumblr](https://meridianheroine.tumblr.com/), [ Twitter ](https://twitter.com/meridianheroine), and [Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/meridianheroine/)
> 
> \+ I have a similar headcanon (about Olivier and Mustang) with lettersfrommadamexmas, my FMA Secret Santa! Here's the [ fic ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28437435/chapters/69685371) they made!
> 
> ++ I never knew Disney's Once Upon A Dream could become so angsty when it comes to royai, but then again everything is angsty with royai LMAO


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